Love Me Do
by Marlboro Blanc
Summary: Moriarty wants a spy in Baker street so he sends his best man John Watson to do the Job, what happens next threatens to destroy them all.
1. Prologue

**A big thank you to Atlin Merrick for being my beta. A vodka and tonic is on its way to you xx**

Love Me Do

Prologue. 

Lestrade could only stand helplessly and watch as wires snaked round the broken body of John Watson. The bright, uncomfortable hospital lights shone down on him and the beeping of the heart monitor was the only indication that he was still alive. Lestrade felt so useless, there was nothing he could do but watch as doctors tried to put the pieces of his friend back together.

What had passed in a blur had now slowed down to an almost snail like pace. The phone call from Mrs Hudson, 221B, the ambulance, phoning Mycroft, everything had happened so quickly now it had stopped and he could only watch and wait. It was as if the hospital lived in its own separate universe, not obeying the laws of time.

He hoped and prayed that there was something in John Watson that would keep him alive. That despite all that had happened he would stay in this world. His injuries had been severe, he had been brutally raped, beaten and left for dead. Large cuts covered his skin, his face swollen and puffy, there was no part of his body that had been left untouched and all of it was covered in bruises and signs of his ordeal. He looked completely unrecognisable from the John Watson he had met, the John Watson he had liked, the John Watson he had seen Sherlock Holmes fall completely in love with.

He had never seen a love like it, not even with his own wife, he had seen plenty of crushes, brief Scotland Yard romances but John and Sherlock were completely different. It was an all consuming love, as if the only reason one of them breathed was for the other. He hoped that they could get past what had happened, what Mycroft had discovered and realise the depth of their feelings towards each other. Love could conquer all, couldn't it?

Mycroft and Sherlock would be here any minute, he didn't want to get in Sherlock's way so he decided to go outside and see if he could get a cigarette off one of the hospital staff. He'd been trying to give up but he needed something to calm his nerves, and he wanted something to do, some sort of distraction from the horror of the previous few hours.

...

Mycroft was handed a cup of coffee by an assistant of Lestrade's, and watched as his brother walked into the hospital room. He hovered outside knowing Sherlock would want some space.

Sherlock sat on the John's bed and took John's hand in his, not saying a word. Mycroft knew the silence was his brother's way of coping. He remembered watching all the blood drain from Sherlock's face when he ran into his room at the manor, relaying the panicked phone call he'd received from Lestrade telling him John Watson had been savagely beaten and his body dumped outside 221B.

Mycroft was still standing outside John's room when Lestrade came back holding an identical polystyrene cup. Mycroft smelt cigarette smoke on his breath, it didn't take a man of Sherlock's intellect to work out why, Mycroft couldn't blame him despite turning his nose up as he breathed in the evidence of a habit he had always though uncivilised. They nodded to each other as a way of greeting.

'Who found him?' Mycroft hoped Lestrade wouldn't mind his bluntness, this was hardly a time for small talk.

'Mrs Hudson, gave her quite a fright poor thing, rang me immediately, I called the ambulance' the words he spoke were short and ineloquent, he started shaking his head as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening 'Naked, wrapped in a blanket and dumped outside Baker Street. Beaten to within an inch of his life, he's been raped Mycroft.' He shook his head again and took a large swig from his coffee cup.

Mycroft stared into the hospital room, his eyes never leaving its two inhabitants, he felt his usual calm facade break, his face betraying the sadness he felt as he watched his brother stand over the broken body of his lover.

'We found this with him' Lestrade's voice broke Mycroft out of his dreamlike state, he pulled a crumpled piece of paper. 'It was addressed to Sherlock'

_Do not touch my things again-M_

'M, this is from Moriarty?' He asked, Lestrade nodded.

'Just goes to show what type of guy we are dealing with here, I mean what type of sick fuck rapes a man just because he fell in love with someone else?' The situation meant Lestrade felt no need to refrain from using course language, something he always held back from doing when in the presence of Sherlock's brother. Mycroft stood perfectly still, staring into the black liquid.

'You think John loves Sherlock?' He asked quietly, the word love had never been used in the same sentence as his brother, love and Sherlock were complete strangers, yet as soon as Lestrade said the word Mycrof immediately knew it to be true, love and Sherlock were no longer poles apart, they were uncomfortable bedfellows on a foreign shore.

'Yeah, everyone does, you just have to look at them to know that' They both stared through the open door into John's room.

'John. What is his condition? Will there be any lasting damage?' Mycroft continued, eager to break the uncomfortable silence that had now built up around them.

'Well the doctors told me they will only know for sure until he wakes up'

They walked over to a row of chairs and sat down to finish their coffee's. They drank in silence, each concentrating on their own thoughts.

...

Sherlock lay down beside John, his hand still clasped in John's. He whispered very, very quietly, so no one else would hear, as far as they were concerned he still hadn't spoken so much as a word.

'Please John. Please wake up. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. Come back to me John, please, come back' A single tear ran down his cheek, then another, leaving a small pool beside him on the hard hospital bed.


	2. Chapter One

Love Me Do

Chapter one.

_Six months earlier_

I had slept funny on my bad shoulder again, meaning it was total agony in the morning. Short, sharp shooting pains up in my body prevented me from sitting comfortably. There was nothing I could do about it. I had been home from Afghanistan a few months now and it had never properly healed. I watched as Moriarty (I still refused to call him Jim, no matter how much he insisted) cut an article out of the Guardian. I didn't need to even read it to know the subject matter. Sherlock Holmes. Moriarty had developed a frightening obsession with him, despite never meeting him. Like a teenage girl worshiping a celebrity from afar. He collected pictures, articles, anything he could get his hands on. A consulting detective and a consulting criminal, I knew that sooner or later their worlds would collide, I had the uneasy feeling that I would be involved somehow.

Not that I wanted to be of course, if I had the choice I would run, run as far away as I could as fast as my limp would let me, but then again where would that leave Harry? I had to remember I was doing this for her, she had made a deal with Moriarty, he would spare her life as long as he could have me. She had married his sister Clara, then broke her heart, that's how this whole mess started, so I bit my tongue and stayed put, like the trapped animal I was. Besides, I had enough blood on my hands from the army without adding my sister's to it.

So far I was simply his assistant, being by his side day and night. I still rejected his advances, pulled away when he tried to feel my leg, or put a hand on my knee. He crushed his lips to mine a couple of times, luckily he was interrupted before my lack of response was noticed. I was worried how long I could carry on denying him, he wasn't a man who was used to not getting what he wanted, and he wanted me. Why I didn't know, I wasn't anything special.

'I think it's about time Sherlock and I got to know each other, don't you think John?' He spoke in his usual silky Irish tone. I simply nodded, I had become very good at that. It wasn't as if I had anything I wanted to say to the man.

'He is looking for a flatmate. A friend of mine told him this morning, Mike Stamford, you may know him?'

'Yes' I nodded again 'We were at Bart's together'

'Well, I couldn't let an opportunity like this pass me by' He began to glue the article he had cut out into a scrapbook on Sherlock that he had made.

'You are going to be his flatmate?' I asked.

'Oh no Johnny boy' I flinched at the nickname he had given me, it made me sound like his pet, which in many ways I guess I was, but I hated being reminded of this fact. 'Me being his flatmate is far too obvious, no, I have thought of the perfect candidate though' He looked straight at me and grinned.

'Me? Why me?' I didn't have a clue about spying, sure I had watched a few Bond films in my time but I'm sure the reality was very different. I doubted living with Sherlock Holmes would involve beautiful women and flash cars. I also doubted that a man as clever as Holmes was would fall for such an obvious trick. He would find me out within five seconds.

'Because you are perfect Johnny boy, think about it, ex army doctor recently returned home injured from Afghanistan living with his sister but looking for his own place, that silly brother of his will do background checks and you're the only one whose story will check out.' A brother. I was quite surprised that someone as mysterious as Sherlock Holmes would have something so personal as a family.

There was a loud knock at the door and Mike walked in. I shook his hand uneasily and wondered how in the hell Mike got involved with a guy like Moriarty. Then I remembered the very expensive drug habit he had developed at med school.

'What the hell are you doing here?' Clearly the same thought had crossed his mind. 'I thought you were abroad getting shot at? What happened?'

'I got shot' I shrugged. We continued an animated discussion on the past, before Moriarty grew tired of this and sent us on our way.

'Remember the plan, introduce John as an old friend of yours, he is clever enough to do the rest' I followed Mike to the door but Moriarty quickly grabbed me, squeezing my shoulder, knowing exactly how to hurt me. As I winced in pain he hissed into my ear.

'Don't forget who you belong to Johnny boy. Don't think that just because you're out of my sight that you don't belong to me. You will always belong to me, your sister made quite sure of that.'

I felt the hairs on the back on my neck stand up, his breath caused my skin to crawl, and his words made my stomach retch as if it they contained some sort of poison. Moriarty would always be there, a dark shadow across my life, there would be no getting away from him, he clung to me, destroying me from the inside out, he felt like second hand smoke in my lungs. Despite knowing he would be forever under my skin as I was forced to do his bidding, I still felt such relief as I walked with Mike Stamford towards Barts. Unlike Moriarty I knew nothing about this Sherlock fellow, but I still savoured the feeling knowing that, if only for a little while, I would be free of Moriarty's glare, enjoying the feeling of the afternoon sun warming my skin.


	3. Chapter Two

**Thank you to all the lovely reviews, they were a joy to read. Again a huuuuuge thanks to my beta Atlin Merrick, so blame her! :P**

* * *

When we are young we always believe that we are something special, that we are the ones who will right the sins of our fathers. We believe we'll never become like our parents, that our lives will be filled with excitement and adventure.

Over time we forget our ambitions, we move on, shed our dreams and become just like everyone else. We give up daydreams of marrying the prettiest girl in our class and running away to sunnier climates. Instead we buy small semi detached houses, marry plain, unassuming girls and have plain, unassuming children. We get unglamorous but steady and reliable jobs have holidays once, maybe twice a year, grow old, tend to our gardens and then die.

I always had a thought, a dream if you will, that someday I would be something far greater than this. I joined the army to find adventure, to escape the pure hell of the English suburbs—the reasons any young man joins the army. I became a doctor because I had a strong belief in my own ability and a need to be useful. Nothing beats the rush of saving a man's life. Instead, in trying to be something great, I was shot, invalided home, and found myself working for a madman.

I couldn't help but feel that my life had gone so badly wrong when walking on that sunny day towards Bart's. What would the young me think if he knew what I was about to do, that I was going to live with a man, become his friend and then betray him?

Like every Englishman I was born with a strong sense of responsibility, my father told me when I was a child that England expected every man to do his duty, what this duty was or who it was to no one ever told me. I don't suppose anyone had the faintest clue. Some say it was to Queen and Country, others that it is to our parents, but I had a duty to my sister, I was her brother, her only living relative since my parents died and my duty was to protect her, I couldn't stand by and watch her fall victim to Moriarty, no matter what she had done.

Mike led me through the corridors of Barts. 'Just, don't make it too obvious' he hissed into my ear. I clutched my cane nervously, hoping to god the plan would work, but slightly hoping it wouldn't, so then I would only have to deal with a angry Moriarty, rather than guilt.

Mike walked in first, I followed behind limping like an invalid. 'Who would want me as a flatmate' I thought. This was not going to work.

'Bit different from my day' I spoke out loud allowing waves of nostalgia and memories to wash over me.

'Mike can I borrow your phone?' A smooth, silky voice filled the room, the type of voice you would give anything to hear more of.

Then I saw him. Him. He was slim, I was certain that I could wrap my fingers around his waist, yet he was so imposing, I suppose it was because he was so tall, even though he was sitting down there was no hiding his gangliness. He had sharp cheekbones, a mop of curly brown hair and the most extraordinary eyes: Cold and grey but so alive at the same time.

He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

'Friend of mine, John Watson' Mike woke me from my trance, and it was a trance, there is no other way I could describe it, he held me in his vision, like some sort of snake charmer and I was the silly bumbling snake. They continued talking, as I stared. Mike didn't have his phone, Sherlock preferred to text, I wasn't sure, it was as if the entire universe had disappeared leaving only him.

'Here, use mine' I offered him my phone.

'An old friend of mine, John Watson' Mike made the introduction as casually as he could, just like Moriarty wanted. As he came over I smiled slightly, trying not to look him in the eye, trying to hide that I working for a criminal mastermind intent on his destruction, but that I would like nothing more than to slip my hands underneath that silk suit, rip away the seams, bend him over the desk and fuck him into oblivion.

'Afghanistan or Iraq?'

Wait. What? How did he? My snake charmer had suddenly pulled the carpet out from beneath my feet and my mind turned idiotic. I opened and closed my mouth, rather like a goldfish.

'Afghanistan' I blurted.

'Ah Molly' A brown haired girl in a lab coat appeared. He mentioned something about lipstick, again I wasn't listening, trying not to make it obvious that I was staring at the way he sipped his coffee.

'How do you feel about the violin' The violin? Here I was, almost getting a hard-on watching a complete stranger drink coffee and he was asking me about the damn violin? Mike smirked.

'Sorry what?'

'I play the violin when I'm thinking, sometimes I don't talk for days on end, would that bother you? Flatmates should know the worst about each other.' Flatmates, had this plan actually worked?

'You told him about me?' Mike hadn't mentioned already introducing me to Sherlock.

'Not a word.' Then how did he—wait this couldn't be what Moriarty meant when he said to let Sherlock do all the work surely, no man could figure that out.

'Who said anything about flatmates?'

'I did, told Mike this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for,' He practically sung the words and he pulled on his coat, confirming Moriarty's story.

'Now here he is, just after lunch with an old friend of his clearly just home from military service in Afganistan, not that difficult a leap,' He wrapped a scarf around that long, pale neck.

'How did you know about Afganistan?' I was becoming impatient now.

'Got my eye on a nice little place in central London, together we should be able to afford it.' Screw that, how the devil did he know about Afganistan?

'Sorry, must dash, left my riding crop alone in the mortuary.' Riding crop. Suddenly the almost hard-on in my trousers got harder.

No, I was not going to let him get away, I was going to fight back.

'Is that it?' My voice sounded more confident then I felt. 'We only just met and we're going to go look at a flat?' I could hear Mike hiss at me to let him go, that the plan had worked I should just stop now, but I could not just let him walk away.

'Problem?'

'We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting,' That was true. 'I don't even know your name,' I added for authenticity.

He stared straight at me and I felt his eyes bore into mine as if I were his prey. 'I know you're an army doctor who's been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you have a brother whose worried about you but you won't go to him for help possibly because he's an alcoholic probably because he just walked out of his wife and I know your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite rightly I'm afraid.' I had been seeing a therapist for the nightmares I still had over the war, I conveniently left Moriarty out of our talks. 'That's enough o be going on with don't you think?'

How the hell did he do that, it was as if his brain had just sent jolts of electricity through my body, the man had just deduced my whole life story from nothing.

I felt more alive than I had done in months.

'The names Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon,' he winked and left.

I had known him barely ten seconds and already I knew I would do anything this man asked.

...

'Well?'

'He fell for it, hook, line and sinker.' Mike slapped my back and Moriarty danced, clapping his hands together.

'Oh wonderful'

He gave me strict instructions, that I was not to try and contact him and I was to befriend Sherlock. Make note of everything he said, did, what made him tick. I was to know him better then I knew myself. Now that I was Sherlock's new flatmate his brother would be paying close attention, if he spotted me even close to anything remotely connected to Moriarty the whole plan would be spoilt. When the coast was clear he would be in touch. I packed my things and was ready to move.

Everything was in place, except, except…

No. I would refuse to think of it. It was just a passing bolt of lust. I had experienced plenty of those with men and women. He was beautiful, extraordinary but I could not fall for him. I had a job to do and I had to do it, for Harry's sake. Still, my body didn't listen to me or my reasoning, I had a painful hard-on just thinking about him. Maybe living with a guy who looked like someone straight out of _Vogue_ magazine wouldn't be too bad. I decided to give in, just this once, maybe if I got it out of my system now it would be better. Slipping my hand under the waistband of my boxers I began to stroke, my stomach muscles began to contract, I closed my eyes and imagined curly brown hair and grey eyes, muttering his name as hot liquid spilled out into my hand. Just this once mind you, I had a job to do.


	4. Chapter Three

**Sorry this has taken me so long, got caught up with the whole surprise Radiohead album and uni work is taking up all my time :( Any fact fans out there I decided Sherlock went to Cambridge because that's where I am from. **

**Again a huge thank you to Atlin Merrick for being my beta. **

* * *

It had all happened so quick, far too quickly for anyone's liking, so quick in fact that I felt my head spin. I contemplated asking the taxi driver to pull over while complaining of motion sickness, then apologise to Sherlock, jump out and discreetly throw up in a hedge.

_Wanna see some more?_

_Oh god yes. _

Three words, that was all it took and we were speeding through central London to Brixton. I tried to kid myself that I was coming because of my sister, that this was exactly what Moriarty wanted, but the truth was I was a more than willing participant to this endeavour. I craved the excitement and adventure that I knew being close to a man like Sherlock would bring. Even though I was working for a criminal mastermind nothing came close to the rush I felt when in that taxi watching London speed by.

Moriarty never got his hands dirty. Being close to him meant I was far away from anything dangerous. I knew underneath the suits and silky Irish tones lay a monster which he was trying his best to conceal from me in a bid to get into my pants. Being with Moriarty was like being in the eye of a storm, around us all this action but we were so still and calm. Sherlock was in middle of everything and it was almost as good as being on the battlefield.

I couldn't deny it was also a massive ego boost to be asked to come with him. Sherlock wanted me to come, wanted my expertise. I was a simple army doctor, nothing special. What I knew could be found in any medical textbook, but he had actually asked _me_ to come. It felt incredible.

Since last night I felt relieved of the pent up lust from our first meeting at Bart's. I could simply sit in awe of his skill and quietly ignore the part of my brain that wanted to know what it would be like to close the gap and place my lips over his. I knew this feeling would subside once we had lived together for a while. Once I'd seen him lounging about in his pyjama's, leaving the lid off the toothpaste, hogging the remote, and we'd had all the usual flatmate arguments, my crush would be killed stone dead. That familiarity would indeed breed contempt. I hoped it would.

Once we reached Brixton, the way he walked into the crime scene, the way he deduced everything about the victim, the way he acted as if stuck on fast forward, rushing about everywhere talking at great speed—he was rude, arrogant, psychotic—and totally brilliant.

Of course most people would take Sally's warning to heart.

_You're not his friend_

Of course I wasn't. Sherlock may know everything about me from my mobile phone but that doesn't mean he knew me. I imagined he saw people as a list of the deductions he had made about them, not the living breathing human beings they actually where. Then again I wasn't most people, even though I was working for somebody else I couldn't help myself when it came to Sherlock, I needed to know more, needed to be around him, needed to drink him in even though I knew he was no good for me, or for anyone. If Moriarty told me tomorrow that I had to get as far away from 221B and Sherlock as I could I doubted I would, I didn't just want Sherlock, I wanted his life because for the first time in months I wasn't thinking about Harry or Moriarty. I was no longer a pawn in their games, I was in the middle of my own adventure and I was loving every second. If that meant living with a madman then so be it, it was worth it, I felt alive.

And everything had gone exactly to plan, I had even managed to fool his brother. During our meeting I was so convinced that I had been found out, but in the end he only stated what everyone already knew, that I had become awfully loyal to Sherlock awfully quickly.

Then there was the limp. As a doctor I knew it was psychosomatic but I couldn't stop the pain. Then when danger came there I was, running about like an athlete, all injuries forgotten. I owed him, he had given me my body back.

After Brixton I sat in complete awe in that cab. What he had done, what he could do was no superhero talent, he was no mind reader, and as far as I was aware had not been bitten by a radioactive spider. He simply observed, saw things everyone else missed, was able to construct little details and observations into a narrative. He could do something the rest of us couldn't. I could feel my brain fill up with him. Whether this was for Moriarty's benefit or my own I could not tell.

Then. Then it all changed, I lay panting in bed, tossing and turning. I couldn't fall asleep if my life depended on it, I had just killed a man. Okay he wasn't a very nice man, a murdering cabbie but I had still shot him dead. Lying in bed staring up at the ceiling remembering the cold feeling rushing through my veins as I realised Sherlock was missing, seeing he was in trouble, firing a gun through the window, feeling utter relief as the man fell, knowing he was safe.

Then he was there, laying in front of me, sleeping. I watched fascinated as his chest rose and fell. Suddenly his body turned into that of the cabbie, blood pouring out of his chest. Then the wound moved, up to the shoulder, and his face turned into mine. I started to scream as the room turned into the desert, the bright sun beating down on me. I screamed and screamed as the sand turned red, soaking with my blood.

'John...John!' I opened my eyes to find Sherlock shaking me. I was drenched with sweat and gasping for air. My lungs felt so tight I couldn't breathe.

'John, are you all right? You were having a bad dream.'

'No I'm not bloody well all right' I snapped, then quickly apologised for losing my temper. 'Sorry, it's just…' I couldn't find the words. I climbed out of bed and pulled on my dressing gown, then went in search of the kettle. I made a cup of tea silently, while Sherlock stared at me, those grey following every movement I made.

'I'll be okay, it was just a bad dream.'

'Do you have them often?'

'Yes.'

We fell into silence, the only sound the clinking of my spoon against the mug as I stirred in milk. I sat down in what had become my chair, Sherlock taking the sofa, his eyes never leaving me.

'Thank you,' I whispered meekly.

'For what?'

'For waking me up.' I felt ashamed that my flatmate had seen my panic.

He shrugged as if everything was perfectly normal. I guessed maybe for him it was.

'I'm sorry if I interrupted your work.'

'Doesn't matter.'

'It does. I shouldn't have disturbed you. Some friend I am.' I took a large mouthful of tea wincing as it burned my mouth.

'I don't have friends.'

'You have me.'

'Only because we live together.' The remark stung.

'No, you're wrong. It's more than that.' It was more than that, I knew it. This man had turned my life upside down and I refused to believe it was simply because he was a roommate.

'Why? What makes you think our connection is anything more than me needing someone to share the rent and you needing somewhere to live?'

'Because I just shot a man for you!' _Because I can't stop thinking about you, because everything you do fascinates me, because I have fallen for you. _

'I don't know anything about you, John.' He was right, of course he was right, we were still virtual strangers. An idea crossed my mind.

'We should get to know each other better, then. I'll ask a question and for every question I ask you then ask me something.'

'Dull.'

I gave him a pleading look and he relented.

'I'll go first.' I paused for a moment trying to think of something. 'Favourite food' was lame I knew, but I couldn't think of anything else.

'I don't eat,' he stated matter-of-factly.

'When you do eat something then, what do you eat?'

'Fine. Pears.'

'Why pears?' I asked.

'That's cheating, that was another question. My turn.'

'Okay fine,' I pouted. I really wanted to know why he picked pears.

'How were you shot?'

I took a deep breath, sighed it out slowly. 'We were ambushed," I said, then thought about what to say next. "I was treating a friend, Jennings. He was shot in the chest, he was a good man. There was nothing I could do but I refused to give up. I thought I could save him but he was a lost cause. Everyone was screaming at me to find cover, we were right out in the open, but I couldn't leave him, I couldn't leave him to die alone. Next thing I know I'm waking up in hospital.' I wiped away some tears I felt on my cheeks. I had never spoken of this story to anyone outside the army. I usually just told people I had been shot in the shoulder and moved on. I saw that great mind digest and store this new information.

'That was very brave.'

'No it wasn't, anyone would do the same thing.' I hated being called brave. I joined the army, doing what I did came with the job. It wasn't bravery.

'I still feel guilty, that I couldn't save him, that I survived and he didn't. He had a wife and baby back home that needed him, I have no one.'

'It wasn't your fault, John.' There was an awkward silence, I smiled weakly at him then stared into the tea seeing Jenning's face staring back.

'My turn,' I piped up, wanting to get back to the game. 'Why do you like pears?'

He shrugged casually. 'There was a pear tree in my garden growing up. I used to pick them when I was a boy, they remind me of that.'

I smile imagining Sherlock the boy. I bet he was a nightmare, probably exactly as he is now. I imagined him in pyjama's sucking his thumb, deducing his nannies, of course he had nannies.

'Do you regret shooting the cabbie?'

'No, my only regret is not getting there sooner. You were in trouble, I helped you, can we just leave it at that?'

He nodded. Of course I didn't regret shooting the cabbie, I would do it again in a heartbeat.

'My turn again." I paused significantly. 'Are you a virgin?'

Sherlock didn't pause at all. 'Yes. I've never been close to someone, well close enough to have a sexual relationship anyway, and casual sex has never interested me.'

'Do you want to have sex?'

He raised an eyebrow and I realized my question sounded almost like an invitation. 'That's another question, but yes, I want to have sex, just to experience it. Now that means I get two questions.'

I sighed and took a gulp of tea. 'Okay shoot.'

'Are you gay?'

'No, I'm bi-sexual. Had some experiences with men at medical school. Next question.'

'Do you love Harry?'

'Yes, she's my sister. When I was a kid I followed her everywhere. She hated it but to me she was my whole world. I was just her annoying little brother, then I grew up, realised she had her faults, we started to fight, argue, then came the drinking and Clara. I still love her, she is my sister of course I do. Sometimes I still feel like that kid running after his big sister even though she ignores him.'

Sherlock nodded and I felt myself wince slightly hoping I hadn't given too much away.

It was my turn now, 'Do you love Mycroft?'

'Yes, I love him. I may not like him very much but I admire him. When I was younger I would do anything to get his approval. I was bullied very badly at school and he always stood up for me, he was cleverer then me, could do anything I couldn't. As I grew up I realised I was different. I began to shut everyone out, including him, now I push him, see how far I can go just to get a reaction, just to get his attention and to know he still cares. My turn to ask now.'

There was a long pause, he sat perfectly still, chin resting on his hands while he considered his question.

'First love.'

I smiled a little. 'My teacher Miss Brown. She taught me when I was five. I made her a Valentine's day card once, then said I wanted to marry her. She smelt of peaches, had long blond hair and the nicest smile you could imagine. She always looked so pleased to see me, as if I had made her day just by being there. She got married and moved to Australia, I was heartbroken.' I laughed remembering the tears I cried as a young boy. How it seemed the whole world had come to an end. 'Have you ever fancied someone?'

He nodded. 'My professor at Cambridge. He was the most intelligent man I knew, handsome too; everyone fancied him. We would have tea together. He had a nice cottage on the outskirts of the city, we would discuss things, everything, school, books, philosophy, science. I was an outcast, but he always had the time for me. That was the first time I ever felt anything for anyone. He had a wife and I was a skinny loner so I knew nothing would happen, didn't stop me from feeling something.'

'Wow, imagine the reaction if this got out, Sherlock Holmes once had a human moment. No one would believe me,' I joked, he gave me another curious look, then smiled.

'I didn't like it, not being able to control how I felt when I was around him.'

'You can't control emotions Sherlock, not even you.' He stared at me strangely for a few moments then carried on.

'Favourite book,' he asked.

'Hitchhikers guide to the galaxy,' I answered almost immediately.

'Favourite past time,' I asked.

'Fencing.' I imagined him with a sword in one hand, dancing around his opponent. He was probably very good at it, he had the body for it.

'I've never fenced.'

'I'll teach you.'

I grinned. The sun was coming out now, blue morning light pouring through the window. 'I'd like that.'

I stood up, bid Sherlock good night. I climbed the stairs to my room, collapsed into bed. I slept like a baby.


	5. Chapter Four

**My beta Atlin Merrick is on her hols so this chapter is not beta'd so I hope there are no major mistakes in it. I am pleased to report however, that she is even more lovely in real life then she is on the interweb, in fact she is so brilliant my head almost exploded.**

**Again a big thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter I hope this doesn't disappoint.**

**Lots and lots of love. **

**MB**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxx **

* * *

Despite Sherlock's insistence that being a sociopath meant he couldn't have any feelings for anyone, we settled into what suspiciously seemed like a friendship over the next few weeks. He kept his promise, sometimes he didn't speak for days but this didn't bother me as much as I thought it would, I simply took a leaf out of his book and observed, I began to learn his mannerisms, how to tell what mood he was in so when he decided not to actually speak, I knew what he was feeling.

When we did talk. Oh how we talked, I began to know Sherlock better then I knew myself, and if I didn't know better I would say Sherlock found me at the very least slightly interesting. He certainly treated me differently than everyone else, with everyone else they were put into two main groups, those he tolerated such as Mrs Hudson, or those that he needed for his own interest such as Molly or Lestrade, everyone else he either paid attention to because he wanted a case solved or just ignored, but with me, at first I was simply someone to share the rent with, now I was part of him. We went from being Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson to Sherlock and John, a double act, a partnership.

I realised this when popping to the corner shop, 'No Sherlock today John?' that people viewed us as an actual couple. Something's were off limits despite our newfound closeness, I knew not to pry into Sherlock's past, 'I had an unhappy childhood and took too much cocaine, that's all you need to know' just like he never pushed for information about the war or why I didn't get on with my sister. We had an unspoken agreement that we would know each other as they are now, in the present.

I still crushed hard on him but luckily I managed to hide it, surprisingly well if I do say so myself, I simply blocked everything out. Shutting that part of my brain down, only allowing myself to even think of it alone at night when I went to bed. By day he was my flatmate, by night my mind made him my lover, my partner, my everything.

However this all came crashing down one rainy Thursday afternoon, I caught him coming out the shower. He had nothing but a towel wrapped round his waist. His hair and body dripping wet I couldn't help but gawp at him, his chest looked like it had been chipped out of marble, he was thin but looked lean and strong, I imagined what it would be like to rung my tongue along its grooves, licking every drop of water that clung to him.

'See something you like John?' He broke me out of my trance, his head tilted slightly to the left, he stared at me with large, open and inviting eyes. I mumbled something and ran up the stairs to my room hearing his quiet laughter behind me.

* * *

Looking at the distressing state of my bank balance I decided to get a job, Moriarty refused to even let me out of his sight for a moment, let alone a job and even though Sherlock insisted that he had enough money to cover both of us, I hated the idea of being reliant on him. Besides going from mooching off one rich man to another wasn't really my style so when I saw an advert in the paper by a local surgery looking for a new doctor I jumped at the chance.

I settled in easily and became very friendly with a young, attractive doctor who worked there, Sarah, one day I promised to myself I would have the courage to invite her out for a drink, what harm could it do? My crush on Sherlock was going nowhere and as much as I loved living with Sherlock maybe going out with a normal person, talking about normal things would do me good.

The truth was I still felt awkward around him after seeing him coming out the shower, I had done my best to hide this silly crush I had on him but now it had all unravelled in the space of a few seconds. He now knew I found him sexually attractive, of course he did, having your flat mate stare at you half naked body with his tongue hanging out would do that to a bloke, I hoped he thought I simply thought that it was because he was good looking, the man owned a mirror, he must know what his looks do to some people. Maybe if I never spoke of what had happened then Sherlock wouldn't know about how deeply I felt for him. That he would assume it was a fleeting moment of attraction. I still helped him on cases, he still left his experiments lying everywhere, shot at walls, I must be the first person in history that goes to work to relax. After spending my days chasing criminals, hearing an old woman complain about her dodgy hip or convincing an over anxious mother that little Timothy really would be fine well, was almost soothing.

* * *

I had almost finished another shift at the surgery when a man walked into my room, he was dressed shabbily with everything he wore coming apart at the seams, he had long greasy hair and a huge nose, I assumed he was homeless.

'How can I help you?' I said in my most polite doctor voice trying desperately not to breathe in too deeply.

'Oh there are many things you can help me with Johnny boy'

Shit. He was back, I hadn't heard from him in so long that I had almost forgotten about why I was living with Sherlock in the first place. It's quite incredible how living with the world's only consulting detective clouds over your memory.

'The disguise though, over doing it a bit don't you think Moriarty?' I joked dryly as he removed his wig and the ridiculous fake nose.

'I know Johnny boy but I have such an excellent line in prosthetics, I doubt my own mother would recognise me.' He laughed in such a way I felt my whole body recoil in disgust.

'So tell me how are you getting on? How is Sherlock'

'Fine'

He frowned 'Come on I travel all this way and make such an effort and all you can say is fine?'

'He is...well his mind is so...' I struggled to find the right words 'He claims he is a sociopath but it is self diagnosed and I doubt it is the case, he is socially awkward yes but he isn't without any humanity. He reminds me of an autistic child in the way he sees things, he doesn't understand emotions or feelings, everything is so logical for him, it follows a strict set of patterns. The way he looks, observes, picks up on things other people miss' I tried as hard as I could to keep any emotion out of my voice. 'He conducts experiments all the time, that's the way he sees things, if he could put people in test tubes he would.' My voice trailed off, Moriarty came over and sat on my desk, pushing his legs close to mine. I hated having him so close but I couldn't move out of my seat with his blocking me like that.

'That's it, that's all you know? Haven't found the skeletons in his closet? He must have some.' He sighed in disappointment at me and began to stare at his nails. 'Well I suppose that's not important, not right now anyway, the important thing is does he trust you?'

'Yes, he trusts me. I'm his friend'

'Good, very good'

He leaned over and snaked a hand up my thigh and grabbing some hair on the back of my head and yanking it so as my head shot up he crushed his lips to mine, forcing his tongue in. I sighed in relief when he broke away, leaping out of his seat, I quickly wiped my mouth when his back was turned.

'I have a job for you, tomorrow a body will be discovered, his name is George Taylor, he will be found lying at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck poor thing. The police will get involved, naturally, and your friend Lestrade will ask for Sherlock's help' Moriarty began to fiddle with a button on his coat and sounded totally bored by the whole thing.

'Did you kill him?' I asked as he put his disguise back on.

'That's none of your concern, don't you worry your pretty little head about it Johnny boy. He has a wife, it is of the upmost importance that you keep Sherlock away from her and do nothing but reinforce everyone else's conclusion that this was nothing but a tragic accident, do you understand?'

I nodded wondering what on earth Moriarty was up to.

* * *

Sherlock was away when I finally made it home, I sighed slightly with relief now I knew that I was free to think, I made a cup of tea as I debated what the hell I was supposed to do. I wish I could just leave, I had a bit of money saved up all I had to do was grab my passport and go, I could take Harry with me so I knew she was safe. Why I hadn't done this months ago I didn't know. But then again Moriarty was up to something, I didn't know what but I knew if I left then Sherlock could be in danger. I couldn't just leave him and hope he would be alright. No, I had to stay and protect him, I thought for a moment that maybe I should come clean and tell him the truth but I couldn't see how 'Hi Sherlock would you like some tea, by the way I'm sort of working for a criminal mastermind who has a dangerous obsession with you' and how would Sherlock take the news? It didn't matter that it was against my will, it was still a betrayal, I still would have lied and I would still lose him. I couldn't bear the thought of loosing him. There had to be a way I could save both Harry, Sherlock and myself from Moriarty. I was still trying to plan something and drawing a complete blank that night when I climbed into bed.

I was awoken by a freezing lump climbing into the space beside me.

'Sherlock what the hell!' I yelped as he cuddled down into the covers. I was deeply annoyed mumbling something about cold feet on my legs and the fact he had a perfectly good bed downstairs.

'Mrs Hudson took my skull'

'So?'

'So, I've been out on a difficult case. I need to have something to talk to'

'But I was asleep!'

'I hoped you wouldn't notice and I could just talk without waking you up'

'Wouldn't notice? Wouldn't notice! Sherlock you are 6ft tall! Of course I would notice you climbing into my bed' Sherlock was obviously ignoring my protests as he continued to make himself at home.

'You're staying aren't you?'

'Yes John I'm quite comfy now'

'Fine' I was defeated so I accepted my fate 'Just be quiet, and you better not fidget' I flipped myself onto my side giving him the cold shoulder. He started mumbling something about the case he had been on, I wasn't really listening as I was far too sleepy to concentrate, I just lay very still listening to him talk as I drifted in and out of sleep.

Then, slowly, I felt him turn onto his side so he was facing the back of my head, my eyes snapped open as he reached an arm round my waist slipping his hand into mine, I sat perfectly still as his thumb began to trace patterns over my hand. I was still exhausted but I fought sleep as best I could. I wanted to stay awake and enjoy every second I had in his arms. I turned around and nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the sweet scent that was purely Sherlock, even in the dark I could feel his eyes on mine.

'John'

'Yes' I mumbled. There was a long pause.

'Nothing, go back to sleep'

I couldn't fight it any longer, this feeling I had so I lifted my head up and placed my lips on his. We stayed perfectly still for a few moments as I savoured it, it was just a sweet gentle kiss but it still made my heart race, before breaking away and lying back onto my pillow.

I woke up that morning to an empty bed, I felt the space beside me where Sherlock had been, it was ice cold and hadn't been slept in for hours, licking my lips I could no longer taste him so I began to wonder if I had dreamt the whole thing.


	6. Chapter Five

I left my room and tried to make as little noise as I could as I headed to the bathroom. I could clearly hear Mycroft downstairs talking to Sherlock about something, though what that was I couldn't make out. I decided it was best to leave them to it, so as soon as I reached the bathroom I tore off my boxers and stuck my head under the shower. I flinched slightly as my skin reacted to the sudden change in temperature. Closing my eyes as the hot water washed over me, I stayed still for a while, just enjoying the sensation, before grabbing the bottle of shower gel and beginning to wash.

'John' came a voice behind me.

I yelped as he startled me.

'Sherlock, I am in the fucking shower!' I scolded him. Personal space, I really needed to teach him about this concept as well as fix the lock on the bathroom door. Luckily the shower curtain hid my nakedness from him.

'Lestrade needs us. A body has been found in Putney.'

'Okay, I'll be out in a second. What did Mycroft want?'

'Nothing. It doesn't matter.' There was an unmistakable tension in the air that appeared every time Sherlock's brother was mentioned.

'John?'

'Yes.'

There was a long pause.

'No one has ever kissed me before,' he mumbled this, his usual arrogance and confidence gone, letting the words out like a closely guarded secret. I couldn't say I was surprised - being a self-diagnosed asexual and sociopath tends to make people assume that you are not very experienced in the love department, but I couldn't help but feel a wave of sadness at such a revelation.

'I just thought you should know. People seem to think these things are important.' He left me to finish my shower and get dressed as he waited downstairs. I couldn't help but feel some type of excitement knowing that I had been the first person to touch those virgin lips. Knowing it wasn't a dream made something inside me click into place. The feeling the kiss gave me, the same feeling a solider gets when he returns home safe and sound into the arms of the one he loves. A feeling of comfort and warmth, as if your heart never wanted to be anywhere else. This wasn't just a schoolboy crush; I was in love with him. My head had finally caught up with my heart and everything was in its right place. I never understood love, I feared it, this idea of your happiness being controlled by another human being. The heart was such a fragile organ that seemed to bleed and break so easily. I had always guarded mine, but this love did nothing but thrill me.

Having such a revelation made me feel almost light headed, and my heart beat quickly in my chest. It was just like throwing back the curtains on the first day of spring, allowing the bright sunlight into your once gloomy room, doing nothing but making you smile, giving you such a rush that the world seemed so open and bright that anything was possible.

But just like the first day of spring, this love could never last. Not when Moriarty loomed over me, casting a long dark shadow across my world. I knew Moriarty would never allow anything to happen between Sherlock and me, and Sherlock could never love me back, no sociopath could. Sherlock was just out of my reach, like water running through my hands. As soon as it had come, the thrill and excitement disappeared, and I was left with feelings of sadness and regret.

* * *

The taxi ride was awkward and felt incredibly cramped, as if overnight every black cab in London had shrunk. It felt like every tiny movement I made caused me to brush up against Sherlock. I blushed profusely as time after time I touched a leg, or arm, or hand. I breathed a sigh of relief and practically jumped out of the cab as we reached Taylor and Sons, an art supply shop where the body had been discovered.

My heart sank as Lestrade confirmed the suspicions I had, that the body that had been found was indeed that of George Taylor. He was a middle-aged man with a worryingly slender frame and wispy brown hair that was starting to turn grey. He had been dead at least twelve hours, his wife having rung the police only after he had failed to return home that night.

'Seems simple enough,' Donovan drawled on, eyes piercing Sherlock. 'Fell down the stairs and broke his neck. What do you think, freak?'

Everyone had drawn that conclusion. It didn't take a genius to see what had happened, or what Moriarty wanted everyone to think had happened. Taylor was placed sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck and bruises located on the right parts of his body to indicate a fall. Case closed.

'Nothing is ever as simple as it seems. And please do better to hide your affair, Donovan. You practically reek of sex.' I prayed to god that Sherlock would figure this one out by himself.

She shuffled uncomfortably.

'Someone should speak to his wife,' Sherlock continued.

'We have better things to do,' Donovan hissed. 'This was clearly a tragic accident, a waste of police time.'

'How would you know? Your brain is the size of a pea,' Sherlock retorted. Donovan opened her mouth, ready for a comeback, when Lestrade interrupted their squabble.

'Go ahead, knock yourself out.' Lestrade scribbled an address down on a notepad, tore it out, and thrust it into Sherlock's open palm. 'Call us if you find anything.'

I wished I had the courage to blurt the truth out, to tell them that it was highly likely this man was murdered, but something in me just couldn't find my voice. All I could do was stare at the poor sod that lay dead at the bottom of the stairs. Then I remembered Moriarty's words.

'I'll do it,' I piped up with a little too much enthusiasm. 'I mean, I'll talk to the wife.'

'Really?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow at me. I couldn't blame him, I hadn't said more than a word since we arrived.

'Yeah, come on she will be grieving, probably not best to put her in close proximity to you.' I took the address from his hand. 'You look round here, I'll meet you later.'

* * *

Joanna Taylor was a short woman, her figure reminding me very much of a teapot. Unlike her husband, her hair had no traces of grey, though I concluded the reddish brown tones came from a bottle.

Nothing of any interest had come up so far; George was a normal, boring man leading a normal, boring existence. He had no enemies and only a few friends dotted about, worked hard, did the pub quiz on a Sunday. He liked football and Top gear, ran an art supply shop, and had always dreamed of becoming the next Picasso. Painting was his greatest passion, his wife told me. Nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever.

'What about the business? Could you tell me about that?'

'Well,' she sighed, 'he inherited it from his father, been working there since he was a lad.'

'Was the business going well?' I tried to pussyfoot around the question of any financial problems as the English tend to avoid discussing financial matters at the best of times.

'We were struggling a bit recently, almost went under a year ago. He was getting stressed, lost a lot of weight. Kept it all from me, though. Then suddenly everything was fine, apparently he did a business deal with some guy.'

'Who?' I asked, though I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.

'I don't know. He never told me. It all sounded very shady if you ask me. Is there anything else?' I shook my head, told her that she had been most helpful, and left the small flat.

I headed down the corridor before a hand grabbed me from behind.

'Hello, Johnny-boy. Working hard?'

'Moriarty!' I exclaimed, kicking myself that this was the second time in a day someone had managed to sneak up on me. I really needed to pay more attention to my surroundings.

He grabbed the notebook that I held in my hands. 'I see you have met the lovely Joanna,' he said, flicking through my notes. 'Let me see. Financial problems? Nope, Sherlock doesn't need to know about that.' He ripped the page out, screwing it up and shoving it in his pocket 'Or that...Or that.' He continued to rip out pages of the notes I had scrawled during my meeting with Mrs Taylor. I rolled my eyes. I had had more than enough of his dramatics.

'Ring Sherlock right now.' His tone darkened, 'Tell him you found nothing. Go on, do it'

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, my hands shaking slightly at the menace in Moriarty's voice. Sherlock answered on the third ring.

'Found anything?' I asked.

'No.' God, Moriarty was good at covering his tracks. He had probably destroyed any incriminating evidence and forged Taylor's books too.

'You?'

'Nothing. He was just a normal bloke. Seems Donovan was right, it was an accident after all.'

* * *

I was relieved to be out from under Moriarty's intense gaze, but my relief was short lived as I returned home to find myself alone with Sherlock. None of the awkwardness from this morning had gone. The air was unbelievably tense and thick with sexual tension that neither of us wanted to discuss.

'Hi.'

'Hello.'

'Fancy a cuppa?'

'Yeah. Okay.'

'Sure.'

Sherlock was absolute hell for the next week. There was no case, not even the slight suggestion of one. I kept out of his way as best I could. I worked as many hours as I could at the surgery, helped Mrs Hudson with some decorating, did everything I could to avoid being with Sherlock. Now that he knew how I felt, all I could feel was slight embarrassment. He had told me time and time again that he was a sociopath and married to his work. Why the hell did I kiss him? The greater distance there was between the two of us the better I felt.

I tried to slip into 221B as quietly as I could that evening after work, exactly a week after George Taylor's body had been discovered, hoping Sherlock was out on a case and I could have a quiet evening to myself. No such luck, as he was sat on the sofa plucking at a violin.

'Evening, John.'

'Evening, Sherlock. Listen, I'm quite tired, had a tough day at work.' I yawned dramatically, but it was obvious to both of us I was faking. I made my way to the stairs, but he grabbed my arm, holding me in an iron grip.

'No, you are going nowhere, John. Not until you explain yourself.'

'Explain myself? What an earth do you mean?' I tried to fake innocence.

'Yes, you fucking well do. First you want to know everything about me, then you kiss me, now you can't look me in the eye. I need an explanation.'

'Forgive me, Sherlock, but I can't. Telling you the truth would mean compromising the only friendship in this world that means anything to me. Besides I do not feel you have the emotional capacity to deal with such a revelation.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean that you are a sociopath, an asexual man who believes himself above such matters. Above such trivial things as human emotions. I'm afraid if I tell you the truth, there will be no going back for either of us.'

'I can't believe this, John. You claim that I am your greatest friend, that I mean everything to you. You know my love of facts and yet you feel that I ought to be kept in the dark from a matter that is obviously troubling you.'

'Okay, I will tell you. I will tell you the truth, but you must understand that once I have, there will be no going back. We won't be able to simply click our fingers and go back to how we were.' I tried to hammer home the shift in our relationship that I knew the truth would cause.

'I understand.' Shit. There really was going back now.

'I'm afraid, Sherlock, that, that I have fallen in love with you'

Not in my wildest dreams did I expect what came next. He grabbed me roughly by the shoulders and practically threw me against the wall, pinning me in place with his hips as he crashed his lips to mine. I groaned as his tongue slid in and began searching my mouth. It was hungry, needy, desperate, all the pent up emotion we had been experiencing finally unleashed. I ran a hand through his soft curls, clutching the back of his head and pulling his head into mine. Then, using all my weight, I pushed him away and led him to the sofa, my mouth never leaving his. I pushed him down and then climbed on top of him. My hands ran along the frame that I had been dreaming about for weeks, pulling at his clothes, trying desperately to feel any bare skin I could find. I crushed my erection against him so he could tell how hot I was for him.

I kissed his mouth, his cheeks, his face, everywhere; if there was a bare patch of skin, I wanted to mark it. I wanted to press my body up against him, and my mind was swimming with what things I wanted to do to him, with him, for him. I wondered if he would return the favour, but I felt unworthy of that great mind and its concentration. The lust I felt caused my body to shake, caused it to clench so much so I was almost in pain.

'John,' he sounded panicked

'It's okay, you will be fine,' I tried to sooth and reassure him.

'No, it's not fine. I don't know what I'm doing, John.' Suddenly everything hit me like a ton of bricks. I realised I was pushing him too far even though I was painfully aware of his virginity. I felt like I had committed such a betrayal that I wanted to slap myself for being so careless.

'I love you, John. I want to make love to you. It's just, it's just,' he faltered, staring away into the distance, not wanting to look me in the eye, 'I'm scared, John.' For a man like Sherlock Holmes to admit he was scared, I knew this was not something I could take lightly. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

I laughed. 'You have nothing to be sorry for. This is a big deal.'

'I wish I was something more.'

'If you were anyone else then I wouldn't love you.' I drew his eyes up to face mine. 'I love you, exactly as you are now.' I lay back onto the sofa and wrapped an arm round him protectively as he used my chest as a pillow and we melted together.

An idea crossed my mind. He liked to be in control. What if there were a way where he was in control of what we did, how we felt?

'If we were making love, how would we be doing it? How would you like it to be done?' I asked.

'Well, we would start by kissing, lots of kissing'

'How does that feel?'

'Nice, warm, wet. You push your tongue into my mouth eventually, not at first, you want me to beg for it. It starts off very coy, but it grows deeper. You run your hands through my hair, and we press our bodies together.'

'And then?'

'You leave my mouth. I hate the sudden loss of contact, but you begin to kiss my neck, you nibble and run a tongue over my pulse.'

'Do I leave a mark?'

'Yes, you want to. You want everyone to know I am yours. I start moaning your name.'

'Then?'

He closed his eyes, 'We start undressing. I am self-conscious, you are too because of your scar, but we have to get rid of our clothes, have to get rid of them because they are a barrier and we want bare skin next to bare skin. Finally, it's all off, then I stand in front of you completely naked.'

'Yes, and I reassure you that no one is more beautiful than you. I spend a while taking you all in. Then I kiss your collar bone and push you onto the bed. I climb on top of you and take your nipple in my mouth and swirl it around till it's hard. Do you like that?'

'Yes, yes I do.'

'Then I kiss along your chest. Imagine it, Sherlock, I want you to imagine the feeling of me kissing you on your stomach, going downwards, further and further.' I reached out for his hand, placed it on his cock, then covered his hand with mine. Using my hand to guide his own, I began moving them in a stroking motion.

'I want you to imagine this is me, Sherlock, that this is my hand, that I'm the one doing this to you.' He closed his eyes and began to groan.

'I want you to imagine that I have kissed along your length, that I have licked along the top, and now I'm sucking it. I want you to imagine that you are fully in my mouth and I am bringing you intense joy. I want you to imagine coming in my mouth, Sherlock, and me drinking every last drop of you.' He groaned again, I wanted to quicken the pace, but I decided to stay slow.

'Imagine that you have come. Do we kiss again?'

'Yes, I'm nervous because I have never done this before, so you kiss me as reassurance. You think it will be good to have a break, so we lie on the bed fondling and petting each other.'

'That's nice isn't it? We both like it.'

'Yes, but soon it's not enough.'

'No, no it isn't. I'm lying on top of you, you can feel my erection against your body. I spread your legs and lie in the middle as I'm still kissing you. I bite your bottom lip slightly.' I took my hand away from his, but he carried on stroking, his eyes still shut tight. I placed a finger on his bottom lip, and he kissed my fingertip. He kissed it, then I pushed it inside and he began to suck.

'Imagine this finger inside of you. Do you like it?' He nodded. 'I know it hurts at first, you wince in pain slightly, but the feeling subsides and I add a second.' I pushed another finger inside his mouth. 'Back and forth, opening you up.' I mimed this motion with my fingers in his mouth. It was sticky and hot and felt so good. 'Eventually, I think you're ready.' I pulled my hand away.

'Yes. Yes I am ready because your fingers are not enough, I want to feel you inside me, I need you to fuck me, John. I'm begging you to fuck me. I hear the sound of a condom wrapper being ripped apart. I'm nervous, but you reassure me. You are so good at that, and I want nothing else.'

'Yes, yes I am.' I put my hand on my now aching cock. I began to jerk off as discreetly as I could, groaning in pleasure and matching Sherlock's movements.

'I enter you,' I continue, 'a little bit at a time till I am fully in.'

Sherlock let out a small moan. 'I groan. I groan and arch my back and buck my hips and, despite the pain, I realise there is nothing I want more than this. I'm desperate for you to come inside me. How do I feel, John?'

'Fucking great. You feel tight and hot, and I am so turned on knowing that I am the first person to ever be inside of you. I start off slow, but then I lose myself in you and can't hold back anymore. I hit your prostate, and you almost die of pleasure.'

'Yes, I'm writhing beneath you, I'm begging you to go harder.'

'Harder?'

'Harder.' We were both groaning now. Sherlock came, then I did, moaning in unison, savouring the feeling of our orgasms.

We lay there panting. I lightly kissed him again, savouring the feeling of him against my lips.

The sofa was small and cramped, but I didn't care. Nothing on earth could have dragged me out of his arms. We said nothing, didn't need to. The only sound was our breathing, and the only movement was the rise and fall of our chests and his hands running through my hair. I fought sleep as best I could, but eventually I fell into such a deep and comfortable sleep that I didn't hear him say that he loved me, didn't hear him say I was all he wanted, that he had dreamed about me for thirty years before he saw my face.


	7. Chapter Six

**Firstly thanks a huge bunch to Marie for Betaing the last chapter for me, should have mentioned that last time *facepalm*. Atlin Merrick beta's this chapter which I am eternally grateful for.**

**Secondly I think I should mention to all you non-Brits that Boots is a UK high street chain of chemists. **

**And finally thanks for all the lovely reviews, do I need to tell you how awesome you all are? Yes, yes I do. Okay enough with the ramble, here is the new chapter, hope you like it. **

* * *

I awoke to something that felt close to contentment in the morning. During the brief few moments of pure bliss between sleep and consciousness I stared at Sherlock pottering around in the kitchen as the events of last night came back to me. Smiling to myself I yawned and stretched out my stiff limbs.

'Good morning,' Sherlock called from the kitchen. I yawned and scratched at my morning stubble. God he looked gorgeous like this, we were both still dressed in the clothes we were wearing yesterday, I took a few moments taking him in. His hair a tangled mess and rays of sunlight dancing around his porcelain skin.

'Morning,' I said through another yawn. Watching Sherlock in the kitchen could only mean one thing and I wondered what body parts he had been cutting up while I slept. 'What you experimenting on now?' I teased.

He gave a playful little scoff in trying to act offended. 'If by experimenting you mean breakfast.' He walked into the kitchen with such a carefree attitude I wouldn't have been surprised if he started whistling, placing a plate of toast smeared with some marmalade and a large mug of coffee on the coffee table.

'For you.' He gave me a little kiss on the head as I reached for the coffee, blowing the little trails of steam rising up from the black liquid before taking a large swig, enjoying the sensation of the warmth hitting my stomach and the caffeine rushing through my system.

'Room service eh? You should charge.' He gave a small chuckle as I reached for the toast, giving it a small inspection just in case before I took a mouthful. It was surprisingly edible considering it was made by a man who avoided culinary pursuits like the plague.

'This is awfully domestic, what brought this on?' I asked. Sherlock was most definitely not a bring-your-partner -breakfast-in-bed (or in this case sofa) type of guy.

'I just wanted to do something nice.' He shrugged. I raised an eyebrow in mock seriousness.

'Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock?' He gave me a playful thump on the shoulder. I ate the rest of the toast and drank the coffee, while he stared intently at me.

'Never seen someone eat breakfast before?'

'It's not my fault you are so frightfully interesting John,' he replied. I smiled and felt my cheeks go slightly red. He leaned in and pressed our lips together, sliding a hand up my leg then up to cup my cheek. I gave a little moan as he ran his hand through my hair. I licked his bottom lip and he opened his mouth. Snaking a hand round his neck, I ran my hand through his curls. Our lips made such a delicious sound as we pulled apart.

'I need to pop out for a few minutes,' he said. I tilted my head and gave him a pleading look.

'Don't look at me like that, I'll be back soon.'

I was about to protest when he pushed his lips back on mine, kissing me so hard it made my head spin. Then before I could gather my thoughts together he grabbed his coat, ran down the stairs, and was halfway out the door. I was just about to head to the bathroom when I heard him run back up the stairs at a familiar frantic pace. Within moments he was back in the flat crushing his lips to mine.

'Go. Loser.' I laughed pushing him away. He gave me another firm kiss before leaving.

I caught myself smiling when I quickly glanced in the mirror while brushing my teeth, and when I was in the shower, the water washing over me I started to sing some song I had heard on the radio. Christ, and I called _Sherlock _a loser. I wondered how my life had turned into a badly-written romantic comedy, me in our flat smiling to myself like a prize idiot.

My world felt incredibly light, brighter somehow since last night. When I thought back to it the smile returned and my chest felt like it was going to explode. Knowing that Sherlock was mine made everything better. Everything was the same of course, nothing physical had changed, I was still John Watson, still living the exact same life I had been, but now the world just felt so different, there had been such a shift that everything seemed possible, London seemed prettier, the weather warmer, everything had lost its grey sheen. I felt like I could do anything, as if the world was an apple waiting for me to take a big, glorious bite out of it.

Sherlock came back just as I turned the shower off; I heard him open the door and call my name. Grabbing my towel and running downstairs a little too enthusiastically, I was greeted with another kiss.

'Your back quickly.' When Sherlock said he had something to do I assumed it was for a case and that he wouldn't be back for hours.

'I rushed.'

'You rushed, you rushed home? You never rush home.'

'Well I've never had anything to rush home to before.'

'Soppy bastard,' I teased, sliding my hands through his arms and pulling his body close to mine.

'So what did you get up to on your grand London adventure?'

'I went to Boots.' He gave me such a look that I immediately knew he wasn't checking out their selection of mascara and lipsticks.

Oh god the last thing I wanted to do was push him, was I pressuring him? He did know there was no rush right? 'What happened to waiting?'

He seemed to always know what I was thinking. He took my hand, then began running his through my hair.

'No, I want this. What we did last night, what you described, I want it, I want to feel all of it.'

He pressed up against my body, running his hands along my back before resting them on my backside. I gently pulled at the lapels of his coat.

'I've created a monster, haven't I?'

He nodded and crushed his lips to mine. There was no politeness about this kiss, all the coyness evaporated and soon it was deep, full of desire and longing, both out tongues fighting for dominance. He was grabbing at my arse now, giving the cheeks a squeeze before clutching at the material and giving a forceful yank. Then he ran.

'Sherlock give me back my fucking towel!' I yelled, running after him. He darted around the kitchen table trying to lose me before heading towards his bedroom. We were both in hysterics as I caught up with him, pushing my body against his then grabbing his arms and wrestling him onto the bed, before holding his wrists still as he tried to wriggle away. I began to tickle him under the arm, where I knew he was especially sensitive.

'No John, stop, that tickles,' he squeaked. Things slowed and soon our laughter died down. He reached up and pressed his lips against mine, I brushed my tongue against his bottom lip and he obediently opened his mouth so I could explore. After a few moment he sat up to take his coat off, then I tried to help him with his shirt buttons but my hands forgot how to work.

'It's okay, I'll do it,' he whispered. I reached for his belt buckle, and practically tore it open, tugging at the zip and sliding his trousers over his hips. I reached down and began to palm his erection through his boxers.

'We need some ground rules first,' I said.

'Rules?'

'Yes, first if this gets to be too much you have to tell me, at any point and we will stop. Okay?'

He nodded.

'Second, you have to try and switch that brain off, I know it's hard but for once can you try not to think? I mean it, no deductions, no guessing what I will like, no logic, just lie back and feel.'

Again he nodded. 'Anything else?'

'Yes, no making fun of my height.'

He laughed and the mood lightened.

'Lie down,' I commanded. Then, as gently as I could, hands shaking slightly with a mixture of nerves and pure lust, I took the waistband of his boxers between my fingers and dragged them down over his legs, discarding them on the floor. I let my hands glide along his stomach then down to his thighs and across his knees before I stroked back up along his inner thighs.

'My god you are beautiful,' I breathed. Pressing his legs apart slightly with my knee, I positioned myself between his thighs. I reached up and kissed him, then ran my fingers along his chest, stopping at a nipple which I gave a quick squeeze. He rewarded me with a little groan of appreciation. I left his mouth and nestled my head into his shoulder and began to kiss the smooth skin of his neck, nipping slightly at the innocent white skin that lay there so it would leave little marks of ownership, keeping the promise I made last night.

He groaned slightly as I let my hand cup his erection, gentle little strokes at first, then I quickened my pace, earning a delicious moan and bucking of hips. I continued to stroke and pull till he lost control, moving and writhing beneath me, my mouth never leaving his neck, feeling the vibrations when he groaned. I could tell he had lost control, that he was so close. When I felt his stomach contract I stopped and left him panting.

'John,' he breathed. I made a gentle, almost inaudible shushing sound. Then I began to move down the bed, leaving a trail of kisses on his neck and shoulder, then I licked inside his belly button, and finally my face was level with his hard cock. I teased him a little, kissing his thighs and cupping his balls.

'John,' He breathed again, and I could sense the slight impatience in his voice. I responded by licking the top of his cock, then running along the shaft, tasting the tang of the pre cum. I took him in my mouth then, all at once, his hips bucked violently, and the moan that came form his lips was the single greatest sound I had ever heard. I almost came right there and then, and the fact just a _noise_ could do that to me left me slightly startled.

Running my tongue and mouth up and down, I soon had him writhing beneath me. His stomach clenched and he began to pant and shake his head. I felt his toes curl against my legs and his hands grabbed the back of my head almost violently. I knew what this meant and I prepared myself. A few seconds later he flooded my mouth. Normally I hated this part, when I was at med school with men as highly sexed as I was, I always spat it out as soon as they came, screwing up my face at the taste, but now, with Sherlock, I couldn't let any part of him go. Spitting him out would be almost criminal, so I swallowed ever last drop, not letting any of it spill out and Christ if I didn't savour it.

I reached my head up to his and kissed him, letting him taste himself.

'That was—'

'Hey what did I tell you about thinking?' I interrupted. He gave a small chuckle. Then, reaching round he grabbed the coat that lay on the chair next to the bed. He opened a small packet then handed me a condom.

'Sure?' I asked.

He nodded and kissed me hard on the lips. 'I want you John.' The look he gave me was all I needed. Blood rushed to my groin as he reached into for the coat again and pulled out a bottle of lube.

Gently I rolled him over, kissing the back of his neck, running my tongue along his spine. Then, holding onto his hips, I lifted him so he was on all fours. Pushing his legs apart with my knee, I kissed all along his back, earning little shivers of anticipation. I flicked open the lube and poured some onto my hand. I took a deep breath, then as gently as I could I pushed one finger into him, listening as he hissed slightly, adjusting to the new sensation. I added a second finger, wrapped my free hand round his hip, then pulled him back slightly onto my fingers. He tensed slightly but grew used to the feeling, so I pushed in further. I curled my fingers to find his prostate. When I found the little bud, his hips bucked, almost toppling him over so that I had to support him with my free hand. He moaned in pleasure. I carried this on for a while until he had come fully undone and I knew he was ready.

My hands started shaking again as I pulled the condom wrapper open with my teeth. Hands still shaking as I took it out of the wrapper, I tugged nervously at my cock just to make sure I was hard enough, then covered myself with lube.

I had been so caught up in him, how he would react, how he would feel, how he would deal with all this, that I had totally forgotten about myself. It all finally caught up with me as I entered him for the first time. The heat, the warmth, the skin tightening against me, it all just hit me like a wave and my brain shut down. I groaned, I wanted this, I was born for this.

I began to move, slowly at first, then lost control and thrust back and forth at a frightening pace, Sherlock matching my stokes with his hips. Soon we were both making noises that would rival an amateur seventies porn production. Moaning in unison, sweat dripping off our bodies, screaming the others name as if it was sacred. I snaked a hand round his waist then rested on his manhood, hard again, I began to stroke him, no rhythm, no grace or elegance, just frantic strokes back and forth, pure animal desire. I heard something that sounded like my name, not that I had the brainpower to understand what either of us was shouting, there was a moment of silence then I felt another batch of hot sticky liquid spill into my hand. I brought the hand to my mouth licking the cum with glee, again savouring the taste. I was close, god I was so close, one more push and I would fall off the cliff into the sea below.

I had never felt so alive as I did when I came in Sherlock—my orgasm overtaking me like no other feeling I had ever had before. My entire being, heart and soul suddenly focused into the part of my body that was buried deep down inside of him and wave after wave of pleasure hit me until I couldn't take much more.

After a long long time I pulled out, threw the condom into the bin, and collapsed beside him.

We kissed lazily, Sherlock closing his eyes in a post-orgasmic haze. I knew sleep would take me soon so I lay still, savouring the feeling of my aching limbs.

The final word we uttered, before sleep overtook us, was love.


	8. Chapter Seven

'You are going have to choose eventually John.'

'I know, please just give me time.'

'No, I'm tired of waiting, what is it to be?'

'Okay fine...pepperoni.'

Sherlock nodded picking up his trousers from the floor and dug out his phone from his pocket, tapping out a number and ordering a pizza from the take away a few streets away. I insisted he order a large, hoping that since he hadn't eaten properly since Tuesday I could get him to have a few slices. Luckily for me he hadn't bothered getting dressed so I admired his figure as he made the call, staring at his body, remembering how it felt, how it tasted, how it felt against me. I lay back with my hands behind my head letting it all just flood over me.

'Twenty minutes.' Sherlock broke me out of my daydream, hanging up the phone and climbing back into bed with me. I coiled by body around his, nuzzling his neck, dozing lightly and waiting for our lunch to show up. He was staring at the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the entire world, my eyes darting slowly from the tip of his nose to the loose curls that lay sprawled on the pillow next to me.

We didn't utter a word to each other, each basking in the joy of silence. My mouth felt heavy, my brain fuzzy and the idea of shattering the wordless calm that had built up around us seemed so wrong.

But now that all the hormones had stopped rushing round my system and all the heat, sweat and passion had subsided, I knew I had to say something. Sherlock had to know that he was sleeping with someone who wasn't everything they claimed, he _had to._ But…not right now.

I must have dozed off again because next thing I knew there was a loud knocking at the door. I let Sherlock get the pizza while I pulled on an old pair of pyjama's.

I smiled when I entered the living room, watching Sherlock already take a slice. I got two plates from the kitchen and we ate in relative silence. Sherlock devoured the pizza, the cheese and topping coming first as he hungrily took it apart. I had never seen him eat so much so quickly, sex clearly suited him. The pizza was hot and burnt my mouth but it tasted so delicious, and I was so famished that I too ate greedily.

Just as we were finishing I heard footsteps on our stairs.

'Mycroft,' I heard Sherlock growl. At my questioning look he said, 'I can tell by his tread.' My heart sank and I suddenly felt slightly ill as my stomach started doing flips. The frosty relationship between Sherlock and his brother meant I highly doubted this was a social visit, and with no cases going on at the moment, I began to worry about the nature of his visit. What if I had been found out, oh god what was I going to do?

Without even bothering to knock Mycroft opened the door. He gave us an odd look. It must have been pretty obvious what had gone on. His brother and his flatmate eating a takeaway pizza in the middle of the afternoon in their dressing gowns and boxers, hair ruffled, faces flushed.

'I see, so this is why you haven't been answering your phone?' Mycroft said, his voice unwavering, the tone calm and cold.

'I'm not interested,' Sherlock stated plainly.

'It shouldn't take long,' Mycroft responded.

'What's going on?' I asked, not being able to bear the tension.

'The National Gallery. Last night someone breached their security.'

'The National Gallery?' I breathed such a sigh of relief that I was breathless for a few moment.

'Yes John, the most secure art gallery in all of England and last night someone broke in. Quiet a puzzle don't you think Sherlock?' We both looked at him.

'You have an hour of my time, after that I have better things to...do.' He didn't even try to hide the innuendo from his voice. I blushed.

* * *

Mycroft offered to drive us; Sherlock insisted we take a cab.

The gallery was closed that morning especially for Sherlock's investigation. Sherlock didn't bother with any small talk with employees of the gallery. As Mycroft, some gallery officials, Lestrade, and I ran after him, Sherlock walked around with that long coat flapping behind him, looking everywhere, eyes travelling in a million different directions at once, taking everything in.

'We don't know what happened, came here this morning and all the security tapes from last night were missing,' wheezed a gallery attendant as she tried to keep up with him.

'Was anything stolen?' he asked, her nametag read Miss Andrews yet I wondered if Sherlock knew this, he developed such tunnel vision when on a case.

'Just some money from the till. Not too important but if there is a hole in our security we need to know about it.'

'Who anyone on guard duty?'

The lady glanced at her notes. 'The twins, Mike and Andy, only been working here a year, excellent credentials.'

'Can I speak to them?' Sherlock asked, except it wasn't so much a question as a statement of fact.

'You can't right now, they are not here.' Suddenly Sherlock's eyes lit up.

'Seems pretty obvious then, no sign of break in, arrest the guards.'

Miss Andrews shook her head 'It's not them, they had the most sparkling references, we followed everything up.' She insisted.

'Can I see their file?' She nodded and left, returning a few minutes later. Sherlock grabbed the file from her hands gaze falling to the pictures of the two identical men. Short, stocky, with similar crew cuts, I wouldn't have wanted to meet either on a dark night. Stereotypical-looking security guards then.

'I know these men.' Sherlock was practically bouncing with excitement. 'Lestrade and I arrested them a few years back, they were part of a smuggling ring, didn't have enough evidence on them so we had to let them go, arrested the more prolific members and the group was disbanded.'

My god he had done it. 'Maybe they were trying to go straight, forged their references to hide their past but cash in the till proved too much,' I said.

He shook his head. 'No, they didn't have the intelligence for this type of forgery.'

'So someone else did it?' Lestrade said, trying to keep up.

'Exactly, I knew just by looking at them they would never leave a life of crime, some men are born criminals, but they always took orders, didn't have the minds to lead, always followed, the brawn never the brains.'

'So, you're saying someone planted them here?'

'Yes, an inside job, they were put here by someone else, but something's wrong, why go to all that effort just for some money from the till? No, there must be another crime.' He began to run about amongst the paintings, yet again we followed in his wake.

'No paintings have been stolen,' Miss Andrews insisted. Sherlock came to a halt by an empty space in the wall.

'The Bacchus and Ariadne,' he said, pointing at a gap 'Where is it?'

'It was taken down this morning for restoration.'

'I need to see it.'

We were led to a back room of the gallery where that afternoon work was due to start on the painting. Sherlock stared at it intently.

'Fake,' he concluded, I felt the ripples of this conclusion explode around me.

'Fake!' Miss Andrews shrilled. 'Are you sure?'

Sherlock nodded. 'Someone masterminded the whole thing. They set up the twins as security guards, made sure they learnt everything they could, then on the eve when the painting was due for restoration it was swapped with a fake. The guards stole the tapes and disappeared, one or maybe both deciding to take some money from the till for their trouble. There you have it, simple really.' He shrugged leaving everyone astounded.

'We will find it, don't worry,' Lestrade assured the gallery staff. Mycroft nodded in agreement. I wasn't so sure, wondering, deep down in my gut, if Moriarty was behind all of this.

* * *

'That was amazing,' I breathed, walking through 221B, I couldn't hide my smugness, not even in the National Gallery, wanting to point to Sherlock and yell, 'See that genius, I'm shagging him,' to anyone that would listen. I didn't think Lestrade would be surprised, considering the matching love bites we had on our necks, I even saw Lestrade slip Mycroft a ten pound note when he thought our backs were turned.

'What happens now?' I asked.

Sherlock shrugged. 'Half an hour of Mycroft's assistant on her Blackberry and they will get the painting back.'

I collapsed onto the sofa. Immediately Sherlock straddled my hips. Linking his fingers through mine, he leaned forward, kissing me hungrily. I groaned as he began to kiss my neck, nipping gently at the sensitive skin.

'You don't care do you?' I giggled.

'No, not really. All I was thinking about while we were there was this.' He highlighted his point by slipping hands underneath my jumper, running them over my bare chest, dragging a finger over a nipple, then teasing it between his long fingers. My mind felt that glorious blankness that only Sherlock could bring. He set about teasing my nipple into a hard bud, then began playing with my belt buckle.

Undoing my jeans then pulling them down to my ankles, settling himself between my thighs, Sherlock palmed my erection through my boxers, kissed my stomach, slipped his tongue inside my belly button. I stretched out, running my fingers through his curls.

He was still a moment, then with a smile he pulled my underwear down. I hissed as the air hit my cock. Placing his hand at the base to keep me in place, Sherlock licked along the shaft, then swirled his tongue over and slightly into the tip. There is something quite amazing at watching that mouth on you, having spent the entire day watching it deduce, insult, generally be incredible. Now it was on me, and it was glorious, teasing, sucking, licking me till I could barely remember my own name and was coming hard in that very mouth.

Right now, being in love with Sherlock was easy, it was fun, gone was the intense longing and now I revelled in the passionate release that sex brought. Sherlock taught me how to look past everything I had ever learnt and see an entire world that was invisible to everyone else. Being with Sherlock was the first time I had ever felt connected to anything and I never wanted to let it go. I wanted to be with him, to make myself small, seep through his very skin and into his blood stream. I hoped he would save me from Moriarty darkness, a darkness pulling on me like a weight, making my heart so heavy I could barely carry it.

I knew that my world was barely holding together and that if I wasn't careful it would soon unravel at the very seams.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Again a huge thank you to Atlin Merrick for betaing this for me, and for putting up with my winging. Also a huge thank you to all of you who took the time to review. xxxx**

* * *

'Careful, its hot.' Marie the receptionist placed the steaming cup of coffee on my desk, I breathed in the fumes and immediately felt more alive.

'Marie you are a star, what would I do without you?' I sank back into my chair, the surgery had been full to the brim all day and there was no sign of any let up. It seemed every citizen of London had decided to get ill on exactly the same day so I was working overtime, not that I had a choice. Sarah sounded so sweet on the phone with her tails of sick patients and not enough doctors, I was tempted to tell her that I had a six foot tall, very handsome boyfriend who was currently pinning me down using only his thighs, after playing an ultra-competitive game of who can get their shirt off the quickest and I really couldn't help, but like the good Samaritan I was, I bid farewell to a rather annoyed, pouting Sherlock and came in.

It seems not even the NHS could beat Sherlock out of a shag, so he decided to spend the next few hours sending me rather explicit texts, mostly relating to his cock. I tried to not reply but that man had such a way with words that I couldn't resist. Unfortunately I was knee deep in a case of measles, meaning I couldn't come up with anything more creative then I was going to come home and shag him senseless, but it got the point across. I also promised to pick up a takeaway on the way back, hoping it was enough to keep Sherlock sweet, considering I was at work when I didn't need to be and the man could throw a tantrum a two year old would be proud of. There was no use telling Sherlock that it was a favour to Sarah considering all the times I ditched work to help on a case, no, strangely logic or reason does not apply to the erect penis of Sherlock Holmes.

'Thank you so much for coming in today John,' Sarah said, bursting through the door. 'Just one more patient then you can go.' I breathed a sigh of relief.

'No problem, anytime.' I smiled.

'Bye John.' Marie headed for the door and exchanged a look with Sarah. It reminded me of an argument I had overheard them having a few days ago, I only caught a few snippets and at first I thought it was over something work-related but when Sarah hissed, 'I've liked him longer.' I realised they were arguing over a bloke. I wondered who it was, but my thoughts over their squabbled ended because it was at that moment Sherlock decided to text me with a rather revealing photo of himself, wearing nothing but one of those impossibly tight shirts. Luckily he had done the decent thing and not buttoned it up. My mouth watered.

'Come on Johnny boy you could at least pretend to be interested in me.' I jumped.

'Moriarty.' I squeaked. 'What no disguise this time?' I questioned, trying to compose myself.

'I'm not here for fun John. I see you and your friends have been snooping around the National.' He gave me an icy stare.

'It was you that was behind the stolen painting.' He nodded. 'Don't worry.' I continued, 'Sherlock isn't interested.'

'It's not Sherlock I'm worried about.' He hissed 'It's his dam brother, he's getting too close.' Sherlock had told me that Mycroft was looking for the painting but I hadn't thought of the consequences. I felt my insides tie themselves up in knots. Mycroft was in danger.

'What have you got planned?' I asked as innocently as I could, I needed to know what Moriarty was up to. Luckily Moriarty was in a talkative mood.

'Tomorrow he is dining at the Ritz, I will take care of him, I need you to keep Sherlock out of the way.'

Moriarty left after that, I tried to stay calm but everything started to swirl around in my head and I felt suddenly very ill. Mycroft was in trouble, I couldn't stand by and watch him fall victim to Moriarty, I knew that to take care of him didn't mean just suggesting which dinner special he should go for, if Mycroft so much as stepped foot into the Ritz tomorrow night he was as good as dead. I had no choice. Not only was he my boyfriend's brother, Mycroft was an innocent man and I would not let an innocent man die. I had no idea how to reach him though, and I didn't know his number or where he lived. I couldn't ask Sherlock without him suspecting something, so I prayed I would find the information in Baker street. I decided to carry on as if everything was normal, then slip out and warn Mycroft. I knew I had to face Sherlock eventually, but right now what mattered most was that Mycroft was safe. I would deal with Sherlock afterwards.

I had to save Mycroft, but how could I convince him his life was in danger? There seemed no other way but reveal who I truly was. This was it, this was the end.

* * *

As soon as I arrived back home I jumped into bed with Sherlock, I couldn't stop myself, knowing this could be my last time alone with him. He didn't question my eagerness, putting it down to all the pictures and texts he had sent me. I kissed him everywhere and we made love countless times until we could barely breathe, until it hurt too much to continue. It seemed the perfect way to say goodbye.

I slipped out of the flat with ease the next day. 'I have to go and see Harry, she is in trouble or something, wants my help, I won't be long.' I wondered when I had got so good at lying, it had become so easy, like second nature to me. Maybe I did belong with Moriarty after all.

I grabbed my coat and fiddled with the zip, my hands clamming up so it took a few goes before I was properly dressed.

'Are you okay?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow at me.

'I'm fine.' I lied again 'It's just Harry, going to see her always makes me feel on edge.' He nodded and seemed to buy it. 'I won't be too long,' I added reassuringly, giving him a small kiss on the lips. I felt a small pang in my chest, wondering if I would ever get to kiss him again.

'I was thinking, seeing as I'm not on a case, would you like Chinese when you get back? We could watch that awful detective drama you like so much.' He sat down on the sofa and opened the now few-days-old paper. Oh god how could he be so domestic at a time like this? It made my heart sink further.

'Yeah, sounds good.' I gave him a quick peck and nuzzled into his curls, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, before leaving the flat and heading for the nearest tube station.

* * *

If this was any other day I would have patted myself on the back for a job well done, felt smug that I, using nothing more than a stolen laptop, had found the elusive Mycroft Holmes. While Sherlock was in the shower this morning, assuming I was doing nothing more than the crossword, I'd hacked into his laptop, a few clicks and I found Mycroft's address.

I looked around the tube carriage, shuffling in my seat uncomfortably. There were a few businessmen dressed in smart suits, a few tourists, some girls in short dresses who looked like they were on their way to a party. I wondered if they knew who I was, that just a glance in my direction and they would see a liar, a cheat and a spy. I would catch someone's eye and immediately look away, as if they could read the guilt on my face.

Once I had reached the address in a part of Mayfair that only people like Mycroft could ever afford to live in, I stood outside his red-bricked Victorian for a few moments to gather my thoughts, replaying all the possible ways the next few minutes could go. Finally I rang the bell and was let in by someone I did not recognise, probably a housekeeper or another assistant. She led me through to a spacious living room and I was told to wait. Inside was expertly furnished, simple, but with flourishes here and there, the man clearly had taste. Or at least his decorator did, somehow I couldn't see Mycroft doing something as trivial as buying furniture.

'Ah, John,' said a voice behind me. I turned around to face Mycroft who was fiddling with a bow tie. He was dressed in a simple, but probably frightfully expensive black suit, a crisp white shirt and freshly polished patent leather shoes. Perfect attire for an evening at the Ritz then.

'How can I help you?' He asked simply, friendly enough so I wasn't intimidated but firm enough so I was reminded that his time was very precious.

'You can't go to the Ritz,' I burst out. I was quite shocked at how brief I was, only realising I had said the words until after they had come out my mouth.

'Why not? I'm sorry John I don't have time for Sherlock's games.' He tried to walk out the door, but I quickly grabbed his wrist holding him in place, preventing him from leaving.

'Sherlock doesn't know I'm here, now please you have to listen.' He gave me a curious expression, my eyes fell to the floor and he could obviously read all the hopelessness and worry on my face.

'John. What is wrong?' There was a touch of emotion in Mycroft's voice that I was not expecting.

I sighed. 'You probably should sit down, this may take a while.'

* * *

**Dun Dun Duuuuuun *cue dramatic music* **


	10. Chapter Nine

**Agin, thank you for all the reviews/alerts subscriptions ect ect, and to Atlin Merrick, for generally just being awesome. **

**Also a big high five to MiraxHorn, for quite possibly the world quickest ever fanfiction review. **

* * *

The sun died behind me, the bright daylight giving way to a dusky evening glow. I heard the faint noise of traffic from outside and somewhere in the house someone had classic FM on. I stood in front of Mycroft feeling very much like I was a man on trial in front of a judge. In many ways I suppose I was, waiting for my execution. The punishment and consequences I could take but I couldn't handle the wait, I knew my fate, embraced it even because it meant Sherlock would know the truth and I could stop lying, but the wait, the wait gnawed away at me, a slow acting poison in my veins. I felt I could handle anything, torture, bullets to the chest, Moriarty, anything, anything but the wait.

What would happen when I was gone? I had images of Sherlock and Mycroft huddled together, talking about my betrayal, talking about how I was so loved, talking in past tense, always past tense, I would inevitably become part of Sherlock's past, a dingy room in the back of his mind where he feared to tread. At least, once all this was over, I could tell myself that I had done the right thing, saving Mycroft had to count for something.

'The painting. The one that was stolen from the National, have you found it?' I asked.

Mycroft sat, legs crossed on a sofa while I continued to pace around his living room. The fear and sense of dread meant I couldn't sit still, I was almost shaking. My feet made soft noises on the wooden floor.

'No, not yet. But I'm close just give me a few more days.' Mycroft had such an air of confidence in his voice. I nodded. So Moriarty was right, Mycroft clearly knew too much. And it didn't seem to stop at the inanimate. Sitting on the couch he seemed to stare directly into me, as if seeing my very soul, a habit Sherlock used far too often for anyone's liking. The two brothers were more alike than either would care to admit.

'Is there anything you would like to tell me John?' he was firm, clearly tired of waiting for the whole story, his tone remained ice cold. I wracked my brains, trying to find the right words, I had so much to tell and so little time. There was never enough time. Trying to find the right words was like trying to catch fireflies in a jar, searching, grabbing, hoping they'll come to you and stay, but they fly away in a second.

'George Taylor's death was no accident, he was murdered. I'm pretty sure he was the one that painted the copy that was switched for the original.' I couldn't look Mycroft in the eye, staring at the patterns of the wallpaper behind his head.

'Yes. I had my suspicions, but please explain to me what all this has to do with me dining at the Ritz this evening?' Mycroft was clearly suspicious. I couldn't blame him, already the story was utterly absurd.

'The man behind it all, the one who came up with the scheme, his name is Jim Moriarty, he is the one who is behind the whole thing, he is worried that you know too much so he is going to try and kill you, tonight, at the Ritz.' My voice shook with nerves, I was inarticulate and the words came out in short bursts compared to the flowing sentences Mycroft spoke, but I hoped it was enough.

There was a long pause as Mycroft digested this news, sitting very still, hand resting on his chin. Then he rose, stood next to me, gazed out the window.

'Moriarty? I should have known,' he finally said.

'Wait, you know him?' Mycroft knew Moriarty? No, this was impossible.

'I know of him, he is quite possibly the most dangerous man in the country yet he is so elusive not even I have seen his face. Impossible to track down, he comes to London, seeps in like a fog clouding the city, then vanishes into thin air as if he had never existed, no trace of him left behind, but I think the most important question is how do you know him?'

'I sort of, I sort of work for him. He wants Sherlock, what for I don't know but he's obsessed, wants a partnership with Sherlock, so he sent me to spy on him, that's how I ended up in Baker street, that's how I know about the painting, and that's how I know your life is in danger.' We didn't have much time so I prayed Mycroft believed me. Prayed that he would take my warning and stay well away from the Ritz and what Moriarty had planned for him.

'So you are a spy.' He sounded disappointed, I wondered if this was for Sherlock, or if he was simply annoyed that he had not figured it out. That someone had outsmarted him. Mycroft was such a closed book I couldn't tell.

'How do I know what you are telling me about Moriarty is the truth?' he asked suddenly.

I was annoyed that he wasn't taking my confession seriously. 'Do you think I would give away my true identity to Sherlock if it wasn't?' I hissed.

'I suppose not.' His cool ,calm facade remained, there was no emotion in his voice whatsoever and it was incredibly unnerving.

'I never meant to fall in love with Sherlock, that was never the plan, it just sort of happened.' I said feebly.

'You really love him don't you.' It wasn't a question because we both knew the answer.

'Will it make any difference?' I choked, shrugging slightly.

'No, I don't suppose it will.' If I didn't know better I would say he almost sounded sad. I nodded, again, I wasn't upset by his frankness, I had already accepted that I had lost Sherlock and was quite possibly a dead man as soon as I stepped through the door. I had a sudden urge to raid Mycroft's alcohol cabinet and wash away the memory of my sins.

'This was a very honourable thing you just did John.'

The funny thing is, I was so sick and tired of being honourable I wanted to strike out and hit him, or at least hit myself for listening to what the army and my father had told me. It was honour that got me into this mess in the first place. 'Can I ask you for something? Seeing as I have just saved your life,' I pleaded.

'Of course.' Thank god something had gone my way. 'But even I have my limits,' he added, heavily hinting that when it came to Sherlock, I was on my own. He didn't need to, I already knew that.

'I need to see Anthea, and could you tell me where the closest cash point is?'

* * *

'John!' Harry exclaimed as she swung the door to her flat open. 'Oh I'm so glad to see you.' She threw her arms round me and gave me a big squeeze. I looked at the large wine glass in her hand.

I didn't need this not right now. 'How drunk are you?' What I needed was to make sure Harry escaped. I knew Moriarty would punish me now I had given everything away to Mycroft. I doubted I would get out of this alive. I was a dead man and I needed to make sure she wasn't caught up in it all. I had lost Sherlock, I would not lose Harry and my plan wouldn't work if she was slaughtered.

'Not very, not yet anyway,' She giggled then saw my serious expression. 'Oh John what's happened?'

I handed her a brown paper bag, she gave a peek inside and gasped 'How much is in here?'

'It's my life savings, and you are going to need this.' I dug into my pocket and pulled out a passport, forged courtesy of Anthea.

'Please tell me what's going on?' Harry demanded.

'You need to get out of here, something has happened and things are about to get messy.'

'What's happened? Does that Sherman fellow know you're a spy?'

'It's Sherlock.' I corrected. 'He is about to find out, and so is Moriarty.' She gave a small gasp of horror, we both knew what Moriarty was capable of. 'Please, you have to be quick, pack a few things and head to Heathrow, get the first plane out of here.' I begged. She nodded.

'Go, now, don't tell me where you are going just in case he...' I let the sentence hang in the air unfinished, I was pretty sure the life of Harriet Watson was of no interest to Moriarty and that I would be the one facing his wrath, but I couldn't take that risk. I hugged her goodbye, we both knew, in our hearts that we would never see each other again.

'Come with me.' She asked hopefully. 'You could get another passport, there is enough here for both of us if we spend it carefully.'

I shook my head. 'I can't, only could forge one.' I lied, Anthea offered to make me a passport too but I declined, I didn't want to tell my sister that I had chosen to stay, that I needed to see Sherlock. That some sick, strange part of me wanted to face up to what I had done, to lie in the bed I had made, running away would be cowardly, and I was no coward. Making out I had no choice would be easier for her to understand.

'Oh John.' She began to cry in my arms.

'Hey, chin up, go somewhere nice and get a tan, don't worry about me.' She wiped her eyes and then looked at the forged passport, read out the name: 'Jane Jones.'

'Suits you actually,' I joked. She laughed, then threw her arms around me again. I felt tears prick my eyes, we may not have gotten on, but she was still my sister.

I stroked her hair while she hugged the life out of me. 'Hey, don't remember this, don't think of Moriarty when you think of me, remember the park in summer, you know the one where you would take me to the swings?'

'Yes, and we would get ice cream and you would get it everywhere.' We laughed at the memory.

'Yep, remember me like that, and the summer holidays where dad took us to Dorset.' We laughed again, remembering all those summer vacations in the rain, running around the English countryside.

'I'm sorry John.'

'It's okay, I'm sorry too. I'm sorry I told mum you snogged Ellie.'

'That was a dare! I suppose I deserved it for telling mum about your stash of _Playboys _under your mattress.' We laughed again, I remembered the earful I got from mum. I wondered how she would react if she knew I had fallen for a man. That her hormone-riddled, breast-obsessed boy had grown into a man who loved nothing more than having a cock in his mouth.

'I'm sorry I walked in on you wanking that time,' she continued.

'Okay that's enough,' I blushed. The memories felt like a lifetime ago. I guess they were. I certainly didn't feel like that boy anymore. I wondered what would happen if we could turn back the clock, though I suppose we would simply do the same things, make the same mistakes, waste the same amount of time all over again, the world would still be full of war, corruption, cheap sex and sad films. Human beings, we never seem to learn, never have and never will.

But I had had Sherlock, even if it was only for a little while. I couldn't complain at what fate had handed me.

I sent a simple text to Sherlock on the way home.

_I love you. JW_

There was no reply.

A short time later I stuck my key though the door but it no longer felt like home, so much had changed since I left 221B only a few hours ago. That familiar, cosy feeling that only home can bring had disappeared, the room felt staged and as impersonal as if I was an actor on a set.

Sherlock was gone, his coat was missing, so I stuck the kettle on. It was the English answer to everything after all and I needed to do something while I waited. Waited for his return.


	11. Chapter Ten

He didn't come back that night or the next morning. Afternoon came, then passed into evening and still Sherlock had not returned.

I sat in my armchair waiting for his return. Not moving a muscle, watching as the hands of the clock traced circles round the face. I didn't eat or sleep, I just kept staring at the door waiting for Sherlock.

It was nightfall when I decided he was certainly not coming back, for a brief moment I feared Moriarty may have taken him, but for some reason my mind was screaming at me to go back to that house in Mayfair. Mycroft had Sherlock, I was certain.

* * *

I was expecting another assistant of Mycroft's to answer his door, but it was the man himself. He didn't look surprised to see my face, in fact he looked like he would ask what had taken me so long.

'Sherlock, I need to see him,' I pleaded.

Mycroft looked me up and down, taking in my crumpled clothes, hair standing up on loose ends, all signs that I had not gone to bed. 'I don't think that is a good idea.'

'Please,' I begged. 'I need to see him, I'm not going, I'll stay on this doorstep all night if I have to.'

'Please don't, think of the neighbours.' He glanced at the other properties on the street. And then suddenly he just stepped aside. 'Up the stairs, second door on the left.'

I ran, not caring how much noise I made or if I got dirt on the carpet. I burst through the door of a large guest bedroom, heart in my mouth.

There he was. He lay on his side on the bed facing me, arms wrapped round his legs holding them in place on his chest. He was wearing a ratty looking t shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms. His head lifted slightly and eyes glimmered with recognition but his body stayed perfectly still. 'How did you find me?'

'Does it matter?'

'Mycroft told me everything. You know I didn't believe him, not at first, I would have carried on in blissful ignorance if he hadn't had the place bugged.' Like Mycroft, there was no emotion in his voice, or in his face. He looked tired, as if he'd given up. When he spoke it was as if he were speaking about somebody else.

'Yes I know.' I wanted to explain everything, tell him about Harry, how this whole mess started but I just couldn't find the words.

'Is it true? Is what Mycroft says true?'

I nodded. 'You know it is.'

'I need to hear it from you.'

'Yes, it's true, Moriarty heard you needed a new flatmate, said he needed someone to spy on you and that's where I came in.'

Sherlock nodded and climbed up off the bed then stood directly in front of me, he looked like he had aged decades in a few hours. He hadn't slept and his face was covered in morning stubble where he had not shaved. Large bags had formed under his eyes and the eyes themselves looked red and sore. He had been crying. Whatever boyish charm and good looks he had once possessed had completely disappeared. There was no spark in his eyes, no glint, he looked dead.

'Funny isn't it? The man who sees everything couldn't see the truth about his own flatmate.' He sounded hollow, his voice even and cold. I hated it, I wanted him to shout at me, scream, anything.

'It's not like that.' I pleaded. 'This was not supposed to happen, believe me I had no intention of falling in love with you.' I felt the tears begin to form in my eyes, they pricked and clouded my vision slightly.

'You could have stopped,' he interrupted 'You could have realised that I felt the same way and stopped, told me the truth and walked away, but no, you had to stay.' His voice finally hitched upwards and I could see anger begin to flood his system. I could almost see the blood boiling in his veins and his eyes began to sparkle with life. I was almost relieved that I was dealing with the Sherlock I knew.

'Why did you carry on lying to me?' he demanded. 'Did you and Moriarty have a good laugh about it? I bet you did, I bet he gave you a big pat on the back, did he congratulate you? Not only did you deceive me, you had me on my back begging to be fucked.' The coarse language made me flinch.

'NO!' I yelled back.

'Then what did you tell Moriarty? Did you tell him everything? My cases? How my mind works? How I like my coffee? The colour of my socks? Or was it more personal? Did you tell him how I taste? Did you tell him how to make me moan? How I sound when I scream your name? What it feels like to be buried deep inside of me? Did you have a bet on to see how long it would take before I sucked your cock?'

'No,' I pleaded, tears stinging my eyes. 'You mean the world to me, I wanted to tell you the truth but I couldn't.'

'Then why did you stay? If I meant that much to you why did you stay?'

'Because I couldn't let you go, because I wanted you, because I love you.' I pleaded my voice thick through the tears that were now falling down my cheeks.

'You don't know what love is, Dr. Watson.' He spat out my name. 'I gave you my virginity and all you did was lie to me. Now get out.' he pointed to the door.

'No,' I said defiantly, shaking my head through the sobs. I was determined to stay, I was determined to stay and make him see, I couldn't lose him, I wouldn't lose him. Wiping the tears from my eyes I stood rooted to the spot.

'I said get out,' he snapped.

'No,' I growled, stepping into his personal space so our noses were almost touching and I could feel his hot breath on my face 'I won't go, not until you believe me, until you know that I love you and I crave you, that I would rather die a thousand times over then spend more than a second away from you.' I wrapped my hands around his waist and crushed our bodies together.

He didn't flinch, not for a moment. We stood, staring at each other in silence, without speaking. The pause seemed to last an eternity. I saw his resolve melt into the air as he looked at me.

'Please go.' The anger in his eyes had subsided, replaced by hurt and loss. 'Please,' he said, his words barely above a whisper.

I shook my head and cupped his cheek. 'This isn't over, it's not over yet.'

He almost fell in my arms, holding me close, burying his head into my neck. Then curling his hand into a fist he struck me against the shoulder, then again. I relished the pain, I deserved it.

'I loved you, I fucking loved you,' he choked out, he sounded like a lost child unable to understand the cruelty of the adult world. I hugged him closely to my chest, his entire bodyweight leaning on me as I swayed him slightly. I whispered that I loved him that I was sorry over and over again till the words lost all meaning.

Mycroft appeared behind me. 'I think you have done enough damage John,' he said, as cold as ice. The softness of his voice juxtaposed the heat and fury of Sherlock. 'Come now John, it's over.' He placed a hand on my shoulder and led me out the front door.

* * *

It had started to rain heavily as I made the walk back, the heavy water droplets fell on me, soaking me to the skin. I didn't care. I noticed a man walking next to me, he was so close I assumed he was about to mug me, I was about to just give him my wallet and save him the trouble when I felt something sting the side of my neck, and my entire world went black.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Hiya folks. Firstly, I am really really not happy with this chapter, but I just want to get it out the way, it was really tough to write so the idea of spending any longer on it filled me with dread. A big thank you to Atlin Merrick, for not only being my beta but also putting up with me bitching about this. Which I did, a lot, in fact I probably spent more time complaining to her about writing this then actually writing this. **

**This chapter contains Non-con, so if that freaks you out please skip. **

* * *

Have you ever tuned in a radio? Of course you have, why am I even asking? It's a bit like asking if you have ever breathed in oxygen and breathed out carbon dioxide.

Well, anyway, have you ever twisted the dial on a radio, twisted it and all you hear is white noise while you desperately searched for a station? This is how my brain felt while I was coming round from whatever it was I had been injected with. I felt sick and nauseas, my brain kept going in and out of focus and it had all the consistency and intellect of a soggy trifle. I had no idea how long I had been out, it must have been a while judging by the cramp in my limbs and the strength of my headache. I tried to decipher what was happening to me using the logical part of my brain, but I was so woozy I could have been outsmarted by a primary school class.

A bright light shone in my face as I slowly flickered my eyes open. I had no idea where the hell I was, and two observations struck me at the same time. The first was that I had been tied to a chair that had been firmly nailed to the floor. I was being held in place by thick rope tied round my ankles and wrists. The room had a bright light bulb dangling from the ceiling and no windows, so I guessed I was possibly in a basement of some sort.

The second observation was that there were two, remarkably ugly-looking identical twins staring straight back at me. They were both completely bald, with eyes the colour of dishwater. Their bodies were the shape of barrels, short and wide, and they looked like they could snap me in half using only their thumbs. Any thought that these men were going to be nice to me evaporated as soon as I saw what they were carrying: identical black metal truncheons, like the police carry. They stared at me with such a ferocious intensity that my blood ran cold. Obviously they had been waiting a while till I came round.

'Can I help you?' I joked sarcastically.

Wrong move John. One man moved towards me and struck a blow to my head. Pain exploded on the left side of my face and it took a few seconds before I could focus again. I blinked repeatedly, unable to get my mind to work properly, still fuzzy from the drugs I had been injected with. I also felt no pain, yet, still in a state of shock. I knew it would only be a matter of time before everything caught up with me. I was going to be hurting soon.

'That wasn't very nice,' I said. They didn't reply. Instead the same man hit me again, this time on my chest. Then the other joined in and together they hit me again and again, the truncheons showering down on my body. They struck my shoulders, arms, knees, legs, chest. I yelled and shook, tied to the chair and utterly helpless. All I could do was sit there and take it while the blows rained down until I couldn't breathe. I was in agony, it seemed to be remarkably easy for my body to be beaten to a bloody pulp. I wasn't sure how long they hit me but it felt like an eternity.

Suddenly I heard the door open and Moriarty walked in, an evil smile on his face told me that he was pleased with the injuries I had received. My captors had done a job well done. I looked down at my body. It looked like I had been put through a blender. I was beaten, bruised, bloodied, my skin going from a fair white to a dark purple as bruises covered my skin. Yes, they had certainly done their job.

'Do you know why you are here John?' Moriarty sang.

'Is this because of Mycroft?' That had to be it; to receive my punishment for giving the game away to Mycroft.

'Partly, but I think it's also important that you are reminded who you belong to. Did you honestly think you could screw Sherlock behind my back and I wouldn't find out?' He knew, of course he knew.

I spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, luckily it was just blood and I didn't just spit out a load of teeth. I tried to open my left eye but it was swollen shut. I could feel hot streams of blood trickling down the side of my face from a wound somewhere on my head. It made me woozy; I couldn't focus. The ropes against my wrists had been tied so tightly they were cutting into my skin, digging in deep as I struggled against them.

'I see you didn't fancy doing this yourself, so you had to get Tweedledum and Teedledee here to do it for you.' I nodded at Moriarty's cronies.

'Now now John, play nice.' He giggled. 'You know how I don't like to get my hands dirty, and please stop trying to change the subject.' He sighed. 'You know you belong to me, you have known all along that you belong to me.' He suddenly jerked his head towards his cronies barking at them to untie me. I felt relief as the pressure from the ropes at my wrists was relieved. Then it began to sting like hell. Heck, my whole body stung like hell. Shortly they hauled me to my feet then let me go, but I was so weak I fell to the ground.

Moriarty knelt beside me. 'Tell me John, what does Sherlock have that I don't?' If I didn't know better I would say there was actual sadness in his voice. 'Why don't you love me John?'

'You're not Sherlock.' I hissed. I would never love Moriarty, not if he was the last man on earth. No matter what he did, I was Sherlock's, and I would always be Sherlock's.

'Fine. I'll just have to make you love me.' My blood ran cold. 'Come on boys let's see what's underneath these clothes.'

They rolled me onto my back, then went for my clothes. Oh no, this wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening. I tried to fight back but it was no good. Moriarty went for the belt buckle, untying then pulling my jeans and boxers over my legs and down to my ankles. His men went for my jacket, pulling off the buttons. Then my shirt was peeled off and soon I was lying entirely naked, feeling horribly vulnerable and exposed. I knew what was coming and I yearned to go back to when I was alone with just the twins and two truncheons. Anything but this.

'No Moriarty, don't, please.' I cried but it was no good, he pulled down his trousers then pulled my legs apart and positioned himself between my thighs. Grabbing my ankles he lifted my legs. He was already rock hard. I could feel him against my thigh.

'Please, stop,' I cried out again. The twins had my arms twisted and were using their body weight to keep me still. To my horror the more I begged Moriarty to stop the bigger his smile became, I even felt his cock twitch against my skin. He had me right where he wanted me. The cool air against my bare skin made me feel sick. Shame filled my body and I felt so weak and pathetic.

I felt his hands force my cheeks apart, then Moriarty entered me brutally, using all his strength to push past my muscles, which tightened against him. I felt like I was being sliced in half, every move, every thrust he made was pure torture. I cried in agony, in shame, but Moriarty threw back his head and groaned in ecstasy. He writhed and bucked and I felt sick, knowing he was enjoying this, that this was more than simply having ultimate control over me, that he saw me as nothing better than a whore, there for his pleasure.

'So fucking tight John,' he groaned. The twins laughed and I cried, shaking my head managing to get my mouth out from under the hand that had been clamped around it.

'Please stop,' I begged, 'Please.' The pain was too much. Moriarty pounded into me and I didn't think my body could handle much more. It felt like every thrust was slicing me deeper and deeper. Suddenly he began to pant.

'Oh god. Oh god.' Thank god he was close, making the same shallow breathing sounds I made when I was about to cum inside Sherlock. God how I wished I was still with Sherlock, that he was the one doing this to me, then it wouldn't involve pain and humiliation, it would be sweet and gentle caresses and passionate kisses…I told myself that soon this would all be over and closed my eyes, but Moriarty slapped me on my thigh. My hair was pulled back, my face held still, my eyes meeting Moriarty's cold gaze.

'No John, open your eyes. I want you to look into my eyes as I come in you.'

I felt something hot and sticky gush inside me, and those pupils dilated but stayed the same pure black colour that they had always been. The expression on his face was one that I would never forget. He pulled out of me and collapsed onto my chest, utterly exhausted.

'Thank you John,' he said, taking my nipple in his mouth the giving it a little suck. 'You are so beautiful, and you are mine, all mine.' He ran his hands over my chest. 'I'm a better fuck then Sherlock right?'

I made no reply.

* * *

The pain. I had never felt anything like this pain, so great my mind could barely process it. All I could hear was white noise, all I could feel was pain. I wondered how long Moriarty was planning to drag this out and hoped he would have mercy and just kill me. I knew he wouldn't.

I wanted Sherlock, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, anyone, I would even take Anderson at this point, just a familiar face to come into the room, slip their arms round me, tell me everything was going to be all right then, while I wasn't looking, snap my neck so I didn't have to cope with this anymore.

Moriarty threw a blanket over me, then Tweedledum roughly grabbed my arm and waist, and pulled me onto his shoulders. Something broke inside me and I began to sob. Tears streamed down my face and mixed with the blood that had dried on my cheeks.

Suddenly I was being roughly dumped into a car.

'Go back to your precious Sherlock,' Moriarty hissed. 'You'll be mine, eventually.'

I wasn't aware of what happened next, I must have blacked out again. The next thing I was aware of was Mrs Hudson holding me in her arms like an infant, I heard someone in the background, Lestrade I think, on the phone. It sounded like he was calling an ambulance. I didn't want an ambulance, I didn't want help. I wanted to die, oh god how I wanted to die.

'Sherlock.' I whispered, and then I closed my eyes, letting the darkness consume me.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Atlin Merrick is the worlds greatest Beta and I want to have her children, just thought I'd mention that.**

**Also, Hypnose Lancome come and collect your prize for being the 100th reviewer. :)**

**And finally, this chapter comes with a great massive dollop of angst (with a side dish of unspeakable anguish), so after reading this I suggest you all look at Coco-Chip-Cookie profile pic, it gave me a good chuckle and its adorable, but before you all rush to look at that don't forget to read and review! **

**Love you all lots and lots like jelly tots.**

**MB xxxxx**

* * *

Mycroft snapped his phone shut and sighed in disappointment.

'Well?' Lestrade asked hopefully.

'Nothing. Still.'

Lestrade threw his hands up in the air, everyone, Scotland Yard, MI5, MI6, Mycroft's people whoever they were, everyone, had been on the hunt for Moriarty yet the man had simply vanished into thin air. They had been searching non-stop for what felt like forever for the evil mastermind and John's rapist—and still nothing. Mycroft had organised a mass man hunt from John's bedside and still nothing.

'Probably hiding out in the same place with Osama and Lord Lucan,' Lestrade murmured bitterly. Mycroft could not help but laugh as he had become quite attached to the Inspector and his rather dry sense of humour. He wondered if Lestrade would come for a drink with him, once the case was over.

Mycroft frowned at his own thoughts. Enough of that. It was incredibly bad form to think of hooking up with a dashing man when you were both trying to find the most dangerous genius in Britain. The Queen would have his knighthood, not to mention Sherlock would never forgive him.

Lestrade left him to go back to John's room, carrying a rather sorry looking sandwich, which no doubt he would try and get Sherlock to eat, and no doubt he would fail, it was almost a routine now. Sherlock was refusing to eat or sleep, how he was still alive no one knew.

Lestrade walked into John's room holding the ham and cheese sandwich hoping that Sherlock would decide that today was the day he ate something. He found him sitting in the same chair and left the sandwich on a small table that was positioned by John's bedside, trying to find a space between all the get well cards and flowers. He felt Sherlock acknowledge his presence even though the man never stopped looking at John. He didn't say a word, leaving it up to Sherlock to decide whether or not they would break the silence.

'Any news?' Sherlock asked.

Lestrade shook his head. 'None, we're still looking but he is still missing.' Knowing Sherlock, as soon as John woke he would find Moriarty and strangle him with his bare hands.

Sherlock nodded, his eyes never leaving John for a second. 'I can't stop loving him, no matter what he did Geoff, I've tried but I can't stop. I fell in love with him as soon as I saw him in Bart's, he let me borrow his phone, now it seems I am spending the rest of my life trying to justify what happened in that one moment.' Sherlock's hand tightened around John's.

'Well you have until he wakes up to decide what's more important, what he was or what he became. He was a spy but he became your lover, so now you have to choose.' Lestrade sipped at his coffee knowing perfectly well the choice Sherlock would make, or at least the one he should.

'Go home Sherlock, eat something, get some sleep, at least have a shower.'

'I can't leave him.' Sherlock was adamant. He hadn't even left his chair to change his clothes. Hospital visiting hours did not apply to him and he remained forever in that chair, hand entwined with John's.

'Yes you can, I'll send you a text if anything changes.' They had had this conversation so many times that Lestrade hoped Sherlock would finally listen to him. But Sherlock stayed. He would always stay.

..

'We're never going to find him are we?'

Harry Watson looked remarkably like her brother, except she had more wrinkles and was female. She had the same dirty blonde hair, the same eye colour, she was small in stature but made up for it with her extroverted, almost insufferable personality. As soon as Mycroft had found her and informed her of what had happened to her brother she was on the first flight she could find, nothing would stop her.

Harry kept saying that she wanted to make things right, that this was all her fault and she had to make things up to John somehow. Mycroft would have found it admirable, if she hadn't spent most of the time John was in a coma in the pub. She was probably drunk now, Mycroft turned his nose up at the smell of her breathe.

'We will find him I can assure you, just give me a little more time.' Mycroft still clutched his trusty umbrella, refusing to be intimidated by the mini-hurricane that was John's sister.

'Time.' She threw her hands up in the air. 'You've had all the fucking time in the world and still nothing. Look Mycroft, as soon as John wakes up I am taking him with me, if I can escape so can he.'

'No, you can't take him.' He felt his icy facade break, he always seemed to lose control whenever she was around. Harry was getting under his skin, Watsons seemed to have this effect on members of the Holmes family. Except that Sherlock wanted to shag John, all he wanted to do with Harry was slap her like an annoying fly.

'Yes I can, I'm his sister and I promised him I would make things all right. You and I both know that if John stays he's dead, unless you want to hand your brother over to Moriarty?'

Mycroft shuddered, he'd been backed into a corner, they all had, so much was resting on Moriarty being discovered and brought to justice. They had to find him, they just had to.

'Give me a few more days.'

Harry stood, hand on hips and chin jutted out in an act of defiance. 'You have a week, then I'm leaving and taking John with me.'

'Can you two stop arguing for a second?' Lestrade interrupted as he jerked his head out of the door 'John is waking up.'

* * *

**_John _**

I was so sure I lay dying as Mrs. Hudson cradled me in her arms that it was a shock coming round and finding myself lying on that hospital bed. I slowly opened my eyes, first seeing the bright hospital lights, then large shapes in front of me. These shapes became people as my eyes adjusted to the light. One leaned forward practically shouting my name. It was female, short dirty blonde hair, she looked just like me.

'Harry?' Was that really her? I blinked and squinted slightly as my sister came into focus. It was like seeing a ghost, she gave a squeal of delight as she threw her arms around me.

'Mycroft found me, I don't know how but he did, I got the first flight I could out here.' she began to sob into my shoulder and I smelt the distinct aroma of Jack Daniels on her breath. Probably best not to mention it. 'Oh John.'

'Ssshhhh, look don't worry about me I'm fine.' I hugged her back trying to put on my best soothing voice. 'Hey where is that tan I told you to get?'

'Oh John. What have I done?' It was the first time she had ever admitted guilt in the part she had played in my life's recent events.

'Welcome back John, we were worried about you for a second there.' I turned around towards the voice. Lestrade smiled a crooked smile at me then turned his head towards Mycroft and Harry.

'Sherlock, where is he?' I asked just as another figure came into my room and knelt beside my bed.

'I'm here John, I will always be here.' I left Harry's arms and lifted my hand to cup his cheek.

'You came back,' I croaked, my throat dry and painful.

'I never left.' He smiled, then wrapped his arms round me and clutched me close to his chest. I breathed in Sherlock's scent. He was here, I was home. There were doctors and nurses flooding my room now, prising me apart from Sherlock, shining lights in my face and asking me questions.

Eventually it died down, the sudden commotion being replaced by just a feeling of absolute calm as I held Sherlock's hand in my own. We had our own little bubble as Lestrade, Harry, hospital staff and Mycroft milled around us.

Another nurse came into my room holding a big bouquet of red roses and I wondered who they could possibly be from.

'These just came for you, someone left them at reception.' She handed me the blooms and a small card.

_Thinking of you_

It was from Moriarty.

**_One week later_**

Sherlock was gone only a few hours and I missed him terribly, I missed his scent, his warmth, his voice, everything, nothing could calm me. I don't know how he managed it but no one ever made him leave, when I would wake in the middle of the night screaming, soaked in my own sweat as I had a flash back of Moriarty touching me, all he had to do was put an arm round me and I would be all right again. I panicked whenever he was out of my sight but today he had gone to see Mrs. Hudson.

Harry came into her room with a solemn look on her face and I was immediately worried.

'Mycroft can't find him.'

'Who?'

'Who'd you think, the Easter bunny? Moriarty of course.' My heart sank, I wanted to find him, I wanted to make him pay for what he did.

'Listen John, I want you to come with me, Mycroft has promised to fake documents for you and when you have fully recovered...'

'No,' I interrupted shaking my head. 'I'm not leaving, I belong here, with Sherlock.'

'I know he means a lot to you John, but if you stay you are a dead man, Moriarty is still out there and he will find you, I almost lost you once I can't lose you again.'

She put her hands in mine and gave me a pleading look. 'No, Mycroft will find him, I have to stay, I have to stay with Sherlock.' I wasn't sure who I was trying to convince, Harry or myself.

..

A week later things were going well. The bruises on my body were fading, I was becoming more and more alert and I could keep food down. However I found no enjoyment in my recovery. Because I knew Harry was right. I had to leave with her. I had no choice.

And so the more I recovered the less time I would have with Sherlock. Soon I would be fully well and I would be discharged, and I would find myself saying goodbye to the man I loved.

I spent my days filled with hope that Lestrade would run in and tell me that Moriarty had been found and I was free to live my life and stay with Sherlock. Everyone had been filled with such hope when the flowers came, it was a fresh lead but yet again nothing had turned up. Slowly everyone had lost any optimism that we would find him, including me.

We didn't tell Sherlock, I insisted. It broke me to pieces to see the joy in his eyes and with every little leap I made he thought he would be taking me back to Baker Street. Everyone knew different but we kept the truth from him, we treated him like a dog who was about to be put down. I was letting him go and he was so unaware of his fate that he wagged his tail as he was lead away. Sherlock kissed me at every opportunity, as if he was toasting our new future together, if only he knew I was kissing him goodbye.

Too soon the week was up and it was time to leave. Sherlock had gone to Baker street to pick up some of my things and Mycroft, Lestrade and Harry had piled into my room to tell me that Mycroft had run out of time. That a new passport and birth certificate had been made, and Mycroft had called in various favours from so many Embassy's that I lost count, we could go wherever we wanted.

Sherlock came back as I was getting dressed, he gave me a squeeze, gentle as silk he was still afraid to touch me. He sat down on the bed and I sat next to him.

'I have to leave,' I choked. I couldn't cry, not in front of him. I promised myself that as soon as I was away I could cry for days but right now I had to be strong.

'Yes, of course you do, I know it's ironic seeing as you are a doctor but you really do not suit hospitals.'

'No Sherlock you're not listening, I have to leave, with Harry.'

'Harry?'

'Yes, I refuse to be Moriarty's and I will not see you work for him, so if I stay in London Moriarty will find me again and kill me. If it was up to me I would stay with you and accept my fate but I can't leave Harry with no one.'

'Wait, Mycroft will find Moriarty. We will kill him.' His voice was so sure, and the hope that flowed from him broke my heart in two.

'What do you think Mycroft has been doing all this time?' Moriarty had vanished and if Mycroft couldn't find him then no one could.

He was getting desperate now. 'Well, I'll come with you and Harry, we can all escape together.'

'No, you can't, Moriarty would easily be able to find you, even if you changed your name he would find you, unless you want to spend the rest of your life not doing cases. I have already taken enough from you without taking away the reason you were put on this earth in the first place for. Plus I can't take you away from London, it's where you belong, and who else will tell Scotland Yard's finest they are a bunch of idiots?' He smiled slightly, it was a good sight.

'Besides.' I ran a hand through his hair sighing slightly as I pushed it out of his face. 'According to my birth certificate and passport I am now John Watkins, and we both know it's John Watson you love.'

He wrapped his arms tightly around me and Mycroft came in holding a suitcase, my suitcase, the one I would need for my new life. Sherlock had the look of a child who refused to give up its favourite toy.

'Stay John,' he begged. 'Please stay, I'll do anything, tell you that I love you every day, stop leaving body parts in the fridge, I'll do anything just don't leave.' I let my head rest on Sherlock's shoulder never wanting to leave his warm embrace. If I had all the time in the world there would still never be enough time for goodbye.

'I love you. Don't forget me.' I whispered into his ear. There was nothing more that needed to be said.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Okay, here it is folks, the last chap of this fic. I hope you enjoyed reading this half as much as I loved writing it. A big big big thank you to Atlin Merrick, for just being, I will learn to use a full stop properly one day I promise. ;) xxxx Secondly a huge huge thanks to everyone who took the time to review. Finally thank you to my girlies (you know who you are) for all the support and for brightening my day.**

**Lots and lots of love **

**MB**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx **

* * *

'Moriarty still has you under some kind of surveillance so we are going to create a diversion.' Lestrade appeared behind Mycroft. 'I'm taking a car to Baker Street, two of my guys are coming with me, they are as close to your appearance as we could find.' Lestrade continued.

I nodded. Sherlock hung his head and said nothing.

'You, Sherlock, Harry and Mycroft will leave out the back," Lestrade added. 'They will take you to St Pancras.'

I nodded again. Harry had our Eurostar tickets and we would be in Paris by dinner time. Mycroft had found us a room in some youth hostel on the Left Bank. As I had never been Harry promised me a few days sightseeing, then we would move on. Where to it hadn't been decided yet—maybe southern France as it was always nice this time of year, or perhaps east towards Germany and Berlin. Who knew? There was a strange sense of freedom about the whole thing, I was a new man, could go anywhere, do anything, it was as if I had been born again.

Lestrade reached out a hand and I took it. He shook it firmly. 'You're a good man, John Watson.'

I nodded my thanks. I wondered if I was a good man. I used to be, the John Watson who joined the army and became a doctor was, but then again Moriarty had obviously seen something in me, a dark undercurrent to my soul that had attracted him, and I had spent so long with him staring into the abyss—and having it stare back into me. Moriarty was a monster, so by being around him, was I now monstrous as well? He had raped me, been deep inside me, I had seen darkness…would that darkness always stay with me? It made my head spin.

After Lestrade left Mycroft lead Harry, Sherlock and I to the back entrance of the hospital and into a waiting car. His assistant was nowhere to be seen. Mycroft took the front seat with Harry, Sherlock and I crowded into the back. The driver took our bags into the boot, then took his seat; Mycroft nodded at him and we set off without so much as a word.

I stared at the grey interior and black leather seats. I was in the middle, my hand wrapped round Sherlock's, our fingers entwined. I weakly smiled at him, than stared out the window, watching central London speed past, lit up in the bright sunshine.

We arrived at St. Pancras far too soon. I wished the journey never had to end, that our train would never come, and Sherlock and I would never part. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost was clearly an idiot. I would rather Moriarty had killed me in that bunker then have to live my life without Sherlock, in fact a part of me wished I had never met Sherlock at all. Knowing true love, then having it taken away from you was the worse feeling in the entire world. Like a poor man who was made rich for only a day, or a blind man given sight then having it taken from him, I would spend the rest of my life mourning the loss of what I'd had.

Walking through the gates of the train station towards passport control we stopped to say goodbye. Mycroft and Harry stood slightly apart from Sherlock and I, letting us bid farewell in peace.

I stared at Sherlock, we stood close together but we were so far away. His head was hunched over, he looked so old. His eyes glistened with tears.

'We'll always have Baker Street.' I laughed trying to lighten the mood. 'Harry said once we get to Paris she will take me sightseeing. I've never been, we can only stay a few days, then who knows.' I rambled, trying to prolong the goodbye.

'Don't tell me where you're going, please,' he begged 'I would follow you, I know I can't but I would, just go, don't look back.' I nodded, I understood, he could never know where I was, we just couldn't take that risk.

'Yeah you never do as your told.' He smiled weakly. 'You know I wish there was a way this could have ended differently, wished we could have stayed friends.'

Sherlock shook his head fiercely. 'That would be worse. The thing is, I don't want to be your friend John, I want to be your lover, I couldn't imagine spending my life seeing you but not being able to touch you, hold you, kiss you, make love to you or call you mine, it would be torture.' I nodded, he was right, as usual. Mycroft coughed and at looked at his watch. Our time was obviously up.

'Go John, go now please before I force you to stay.' I saw a solitary tear roll down his cheek. I leaned forward and kissed the cheek it had rolled down, feeling the wetness against my lips.

'You know,' I continued as I looked around the train station. 'It's the same in every city, too much concrete not enough light.'

'Goodbye, John,' were the last words I heard him speak.

I turned my back and handed my new passport over to the guard before walking through the gate. I kept my promise, I didn't look back, but I could feel those grey eyes on me. Oh god I wanted so badly to run back and never leave those arms, never leave his bed. Wiping the tears from my eyes I bordered the train with my sister.

We silently put away our luggage into the compartments then found two seats at the back of the carriage. As the train began to pull away, I knew in my heart that I would never see England or Sherlock again.

I wiped away another tear not even bothering to disguise the sadness from Harry. 'Why are you so upset? It's all over now John, we're finally free, Mycroft promised.'

'I know, it's just Sherlock.'

'Sherlock? Why are you crying over Sherlock? He was just a flatmate.' Harry squeezed my hand then went back to reading her copy of _Cosmo. _

I stared at the reflection of myself in the train window.

'Yes, I suppose he was.' I smiled at her, one day maybe I would tell her everything but for now I sat in silence, I caught my reflection in the mirror and saw a man, an ordinary plain man, who had fought a war in Afghanistan, who loved and was loved in return.

I watched the English countryside rush past me.

* * *

**The End**


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